


Blood Moon Rising

by noelleification



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Lucius Malfoy, Adoption, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because we don't support TERFS in this household, But you're gonna be... happy about it?, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Drarry might happen at some point, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Drarry, Everyone is LGBT, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gay Disaster Draco Malfoy, Gay Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter but it's ridiculously gay, Hurt/Comfort, I swear there's going to be a happy ending, I'm gonna try my hardest to make you cry, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, M/M, Mutual Pining, Parental Remus Lupin, Parental Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Lives, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks Never Happened, Remus and Sirius adopt draco, Remus and Sirius as dads, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius and Remus are in love but it doesn't mean they're smart enough to know it yet, Slowburn Adoption, So much angst, Tonks as lesbian wine aunt, Tonks has big sister vibes, Tonks is best girl, Torture, Trans Hermione Granger, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Whump, Wolfstar is canon, Yearning, You're gonna suffer..., because fuck jk rowling, eventual drarry is now here, idk - Freeform, just be prepared, seriously get ready for angst, so get ready for them to pine for awhile, this shit gets dark yall, this shit hurted, traumatized Draco, uhhhhhh just have tissues ready I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 53,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelleification/pseuds/noelleification
Summary: Draco Malfoy is cursed.Ever since Fenrir Greyback ripped him to shreds, Draco has transformed into a monster every month on the full moon. The change is painful, and living with Lucius Malfoy might be worse. But Draco is strong. He doesn’t need anyone, especially not Remus Lupin.Remus Lupin might be the only person in the world who understands what Draco is going through—but he has enough on his plate, between the still-raging wizarding war, the publicized nature of his status as a werewolf, and his best friend, Sirius Black, who Remus might think of in a more-than-friendly way. He certainly can’t take in a seventeen-year-old Death Eater—can he?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Nymphadora Tonks, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin & Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black & Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1023
Kudos: 1212





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm Noelle.  
> This is my first time writing on AO3, so I'm definitely going to make some mistakes along the way, but please be gentle with me—I'm learning! I'm seventeen-almost-eighteen and I plan to study creative writing in college. I'm writing this fic knowing full well that no one's probably going to read it, but I just can't get the idea out of my head of Remus helping werewolf-Draco adjust to his knew life. There's going to be lots of angst, but also lots of fluff if you stick around.

It was cold in the basement of Malfoy Manor. 

Draco hunched in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest. It had only been an hour, but the shackles around his wrists and ankles had already rubbed his skin raw. The scent of blood was sure to drive him mad once the change came over him. 

Already, day was turning to night. Draco could just see the long, looming twilight shadows through the barred window high up on the stone wall. The sky was the color of velvet. Draco craned his neck as he studied the stars, scattered like crushed diamonds through the sky, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the constellation that was his namesake. Draco for dragon—a strong name, a name worthy of the Malfoy family. 

Draco did not deserve his name. 

He buried his head in his knees. Soon, the moon would rise, and the hunger would take hold. It would show him just how unworthy he was. 

It had been months since Voldemort had ordered Draco punished, since he had sent Fenrir Greyback to teach the Malfoys a lesson. But no matter how much time passed, Draco would always remember the pain: the feeling of fangs sinking into the flesh of his forearm, claws cleaving apart the skin of his chest and back, jaws sinking into the sensitive base of his throat. 

Fenrir Greyback was a messy eater. 

When he had come to school even paler than usual, when he started wearing long sleeves even in summer, everyone had thought he was hiding the Dark Mark.

They thought wrong. 

Draco leaned his head back against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes. How could he complain? He had brought this upon himself. Wasn’t it as much as he deserved? 

The change started small. At first, it was just an uncomfortable itch along his arms and legs. He scratched absently, staring out the small, high window as starlight trickled in. The moon had just started to rise. 

The itching got worse, and Draco scratched harder, only stopping when he felt something warm and wet underneath his fingers. He looked down. 

His arms were covered in deep gauges, weeping crimson where his nails had cut into his skin. No—not nails, not anymore. His fingers had sharpened into  _ claws _ , tipped with razor edges that rent flesh like a hot knife cut through butter. The cuts would hurt in the morning, but for now, Draco only felt the itching. He snarled and kept scratching. 

As the moon rose higher in the sky, white fur sprouted from Draco’s skin, and he cut his tongue on the fangs that had started to grow in his mouth. 

Draco hated this part—the in-between. When he was beast enough for the urges to slam into him with the force of a freight train, but still man enough to know what was happening. He hunched his shoulders, trying to block it out: the voice in his head telling him to  _ hunt, chase, kill _ . There was nobody here, nothing that he could hurt—but the blood matted in his thick white fur was starting to smell awfully appealing. 

_ Snap _ . Draco cried out as the first of his bones broke, and his scream sounded too much like a howl. Agony coursed through him, white-hot and burning, like liquid fire in his veins. 

His frame twisted, turning into something alien, something other. Every time, he watched the moon rise and prepared for what was about to come. Every time, he thought he was ready. And every time, he was wrong. 

Because this pain was unbearable. 

Draco’s shoulders popped out of their sockets, his elbows bent backwards. There was a terrible stretching in his back, like his spine was growing longer, like his vertebrae were being pulled apart. The delicate bones in his hands and feet shattered, reforming before his eyes into  _ paws— _

It wasn’t long before he couldn’t even scream. As his face morphed, as teeth sprouted from his growing snout, Draco turned his face toward the moon and howled. 

There was no reply. Draco fell to the ground, panting, writhing as his broken body tried to put itself back together again. 

And as his joints snapped, as his bones broke and reformed, Draco was completely and utterly alone. 

***

The lock clicked. A second later, the door swung open, and Sirius stepped inside. 

Remus looked up, the corner of his lips kicking up into a wry smile. “You’re late.”

“I’m always late.” Sirius’s eyes darted over Remus’s hunched form. “Why are you chained up?”

Remus’s throat worked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never hurt me before.”

“James and Peter were there before.”

Sirius padded across the floor and dropped into a crouch in front of his friend. Remus’s face was covered with even more scars now than it had been twelve years ago. He reached out, brushing a finger over the newest of them—a freshly healed gash on Remus’s cheek, still the fresh pink color of a recent injury. Sirius might’ve been imagining it, but it felt like Remus leaned into the touch. “I’m not going to leave you this time. You had to bear it alone for twelve years, but not anymore.” 

“But what if I—” 

“Stop.” Sirius shook his head. “I’m going to be fine, and so are you. Now stop being such a git and let me help you.”

Remus snorted. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a rotten job of it.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better, I’m just telling you how it’s going to be.” Sirius shifted his body so that he was sitting next to Remus, their shoulders barely brushing as Sirius leaned against the wall. 

Remus let out a long, trembling breath. He was frightened—of the pain, or of hurting his friend, Sirius didn’t know, but it made his heart ache all the same. How many times had Remus done this all alone? How many times had he shackled himself to the wall and bore the pain quietly? Sirius should’ve been there. 

The full moon was the worst night for Sirius to bear in Azkaban. The dementors tormented him, forced him to think of all the pain his friend was bearing. They filled his mind with the sound of Remus’s screams, and when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Remus’s petrified face looking back at him. 

_ Sirius, please. Help me.  _

And the fear on Remus’s face now… it brought him back to that place of dark and shadow, where he couldn’t remember the sight of Remus’s smile or the sound of his laugh. Where he could only remember the screams. 

“The change is going to start soon,” Remus said. “If you’re going to stay, you should at least transform.” 

“I will,” Sirius said. “But not yet.” 

“Sirius—”

“For God’s sake, Remus, I’ll be fine,” Sirius growled. “Stop being such a mother hen.”

Remus laughed tiredly, resting his head against his friend’s shoulder. Sirius froze, afraid that if he moved wrong, if he so much as breathed too deeply, Remus would pull away—and Sirius wouldn’t be able to bear it if Remus pulled away. “I missed you, Sirius.” 

Sirius’s fingers brushed against Remus’s. “I know you did, you old sap. How in the world did you last twelve years without me?” 

“They were the worst twelve years of my life,” Remus said, voice hardly above a whisper. He shifted where his head rested on Sirius’s shoulder, and he started to scratch at the pale, scarred skin of his forearms. 

Sirius grabbed Remus’s hands and pulled them away, tangling their fingers together. “Stop that.”  
“I can’t. It itches—”

“I know, but you’re only going to make yourself bleed.” Sirius ran his thumb back and forth over the back of his friend’s hand. 

Remus buried his face in the silken mass of Sirius’s hair as a shudder rocked through his body. “Don’t leave me.”

Sirius’s eyes fluttered closed. “I’m not going to leave you, Remus.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.” 

Another shudder coursed through Remus’s frame. He was several inches taller than Sirius, but he had never looked smaller than he did right now, tucked against Sirius’s side. “You need to transform. If you’re human when I turn, I won’t be able to control myself.”

“I will, but not just yet.”

“Sirius—”

“Shh. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Remus.”

Claws started to burst through the tips of Remus’s fingers, and he gasped, his breathing shallower than it had been just minutes before. Sirius pulled Remus more fully into his arms, cradling him as the fit worsened, as fur started to sprout over Remus’s face. He rocked Remus back and forth as he whimpered. 

“Sirius, please,” Remus panted through a mouthful of fangs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Remus’s back arched. Sirius felt something snap underneath his hands, felt bone shifting and rearranging. Bile rose in his throat. The change hadn’t been so bad when James and Peter were here, but it was different this time. It was worse. The pain… it had to be unimaginable. 

Gently, Sirius lowered Remus’s writhing body to the floor. “Shh, Remus. You’re almost there.” 

A ragged scream tore from Remus’s throat. It took everything Sirius had not to pull Remus back into his arms, to soothe him and rock him and tell him everything would be okay. But he had waited too long already. 

For Sirius, the shift was easy. One minute he was a man, and the next he was a giant black dog, almost as big as Remus’s wolf. But for Remus, the pain wasn’t over yet. He howled, clawing at himself with hands that were slowly morphing into paws, blood soaking his sandy-blond fur. 

There was nothing Sirius could do now. He rested his head on his paws and waited. 

After what seemed like hours, the shift was complete. A giant wolf lay in the middle of the floor, panting, eyes dull with pain. Sirius stood and trotted to the front of the wolf, then started to lick his wounds clean. When it was done, he curled up next to Remus, and when their eyes met, he saw something in his friend’s gaze. Something like gratitude. 

Remus’s joints snapped. His bones broke and reformed. But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading Chapter 1! Let me know what you think in the comments. :)
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Noelle


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: child abuse 
> 
> Hello again, and welcome to another chapter of Holy Shit Stop Traumatizing My Favorite Characters. I want to start off by saying, oh my God, thank you all for reading this! When I posted Chapter 1, I seriously thought that it would get about 2 hits, so I’m absolutely over the moon that 65 people read it. Anyways, thank you to everyone who gave it a chance, and double-thank you to everyone who left kudos. You guys inspire me to keep going!
> 
> In other news, I thought I’d announce that I’m establishing an upload schedule. This week ONLY, I’ll be updating Monday, Wednesday, and Friday (I want to get a few chapters up relatively quickly.) After that, however, I will be posting every Monday and Thursday. 
> 
> Finally, I know you’re all waiting for the adoption part of the fic, and we’re getting there. Patience, Young Padawan. First we’ve gotta establish the *trauma*. It’ll be worth it when we get there, I promise. For now, enjoy Wolfstar angsty fluff and whatever the hell is going on with Draco. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle

Draco awoke to darkness, and blood, and pain. 

He thought for a split second that he might have been dead. The blackness surrounding him was so thick that he was drowning in it, back arching, wounds screaming with every movement. He could not get enough air into her lungs, and the dark was so dense, almost palpable… He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. 

This was hell, he decided. He had died and gone to hell, and this dark, this pain, was his eternal torment. From the ashy, bitter taste in his mouth and the way his throat burned, Draco knew he had been screaming. 

Draco pushed himself upright, wincing as his wounds pulled. It was so dark he could hardly see his own hands in front of his face—but through the window, he could see the black sky lightening to smooth, deep purple. The sun was rising. It was dawn. 

He sagged in relief, carefully twisting his broken body so that he could lean against the wall. A shudder coursed through him. It was even colder now than it had been last night, and his clothes had been destroyed in the change. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked slowly back and forth as the blood on his skin cooled, and then dried. 

It was over. He wouldn’t have to bear this again for a whole month. 

The chains around his wrists and ankles clanked as he moved. It hurt when the manacles rubbed against his raw skin, but then, everything hurt. The gashes in Draco’s arms, the joints that had been ripped apart, the bones that had twisted and snapped. It felt like he’d been on the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse, or one of his father’s beatings. 

But Draco was human again. He was himself. 

Draco leaned his head back against the wall and watched the sun rise. 

***

Remus’s eyes blinked open slowly. 

He was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, lying on an unfamiliar bed, under unfamiliar covers with no idea how he’d gotten there. He looked around. 

The last dying embers of a fire were burning in the large, ornate hearth, filling the room with warm, delicious heat. Underneath the scarlet coverlet on the bed, Remus was almost too warm—almost. Dusty red and gold banners hung from the ceiling, and pictures had been plastered all over the walls, so thick that Remus could hardly see the wallpaper underneath. In the near-darkness, he couldn’t quite make out the faces smiling back at him from the photographs. 

Remus turned his head. A large, dark silhouette was slumbering next to him, chest rising and falling in the rhythmic cadence of sleep. The figure was only half under the coverlet. One of his legs was flung out to the side, like he had been tossing and turning in the night. 

Gently, Remus reached out and pulled the blankets more fully over Sirius’s sleeping form. It was then that he caught sight of his own arms, carefully bandaged in white linen. 

Remus’s heart lurched. Sirius must’ve carried him to bed after Remus turned back, must’ve cleaned and bandaged Remus’s self-inflicted wounds. Sirius must’ve stayed with him through the whole night. 

But then, of course he had. Sirius had been looking out for him since the moment they met, when Sirius was a brash eleven-year-old with a chip on his shoulder and a heart of gold. Remus had been so lost in his shame and anger and self-hate, and Sirius had been the one to pull him out. 

Remus rose slowly from the bed, careful not to disturb Sirius—after the night he’d had, he needed his rest—and padded softly to the door. He wanted a strong cup of coffee, and maybe an Advil. 

He was just about to slip through the door when he saw a picture on the wall that made his heart skip a beat. He took a step closer. 

They were standing on the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts in their fifth year, just the four of them. Before Lily became the center of James’ world, before Peter started pulling away more and more. Before Sirius found his best friend’s corpse and the squalling baby he had died to protect. 

As much as Remus loved Lily, he would always remember these as their golden days. They were the Marauders: brilliant but wild, untamed. He remembered their midnight forays through the castle, their days getting drunk off stolen whiskey under the bleachers. He remembered the way Sirius’s hair looked when he was studying, when he shoved his wand through it to keep it in place. He remembered how free he felt, running through the grounds as a wolf with his friends surrounding him, back when the change became less painful and his mind remained in-tact. 

And this picture… it captured that. James was caught in an eternal loop of running a hand through his messy hair—just the sight of the familiar motion sent a pang through Remus’s chest—and Peter was standing by his side, smiling shyly as he stared up at James. Remus was reading a book, but from the slight smile on his lips, he wasn’t paying attention. He wouldn’t have been able to, not when Sirius was resting an elbow on his shoulder and whispering something in his ear. 

James had been Remus’s best friend, and Remus knew he had been Sirius’s, too. But even then, there had been a closeness between Remus and Sirius that the others had lacked. Remus could see it in the casual, easy way Sirius was touching him, the light blush on Remus’s cheeks at whatever his friend had said. 

Remus’s gaze dropped, and he found his own face staring back at him. The drawing was so realistic that for a half-second, he waited for it to move like a photograph. But this was not a photograph—no, it was something even more special. A charcoal drawing, made by Sirius’s own hand. 

Sirius had always been skilled with charcoal. It called to him the way books called to Remus. He drew everything around him, but he drew Remus most of all. James used to tease him about it:  _ Drawing Moony again, Padfoot? Are you in love?  _

Sirius had only laughed.  _ It’s not my fault he’s so pretty. His is a face that wants to be drawn.  _

Remus had always blushed and looked away. Sirius couldn’t really think he was  _ pretty _ —not lanky, awkward Remus Lupin with scars all over his face. Surely Sirius was only saying that to make Remus feel better. He knew how much Remus hated his own reflection. 

Remus shook off the memory and looked to another photo, and another. James, Lily, Peter, even Regulus, faces of the dead and the damned. Memories of happier times, before the world fell to pieces again. The walls were plastered with them. 

Remus looked back at Sirius, still sleeping soundly underneath the scarlet coverlet. No wonder he’d never showed his childhood bedroom to Remus before now—it was a shrine. To James, to Lily, to the joy that had been snatched away from Sirius before he ever got the chance to start believing it was anything more than a beautiful dream. So much of Sirius’s life had been tragedy and heartache—from his early childhood in a house that hated him, to his last twelve years in Azkaban, imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. 

With one last look at Sirius, Remus slipped through the door. He would let his friend sleep. 

12 Grimmauld Place was quiet this time of year. The Order of the Phoenix was scattered—Harry, Ron, and Hermione were out scouring the world for Horcruxes, and the Weasleys were back at the burrow. Even Kingsley was off on Ministry business. They stopped by every once in a while, but for the most part, it was just Remus and Sirius. Well, Remus and Sirius and—

“Hallo, Remus. Rough night?” 

Nymphadora Tonks was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning back in her chair. Her Weird Sisters t-shirt was about four sizes too big, and her dark black eye makeup was smudged, like she’d slept in it. She wore a pair of dinosaur-patterned boxers as pajama shorts. Her shoulder-length pink hair was pulled back in a short, stubby ponytail, but a few strands had escaped to frame her heart-shaped face, and she was currently eating ice cream straight out of the carton with a fork. 

Remus grabbed the kettle from the old gas stove and started to fill it. “Not as bad as some.”

“Where’s Sirius?”

“He’s asleep.”

Tonks nodded and offered the carton of ice cream to Remus. “Want any? It’s cookie dough.”

“It’s not even nine in the morning.” 

“If you don’t want any, just say so.” Tonks rolled her eyes and turned back to her… breakfast? 

That was the thing about Tonks. She was nice enough, but she was also very clearly twenty-four years old. 

Remus dropped into a chair across the table. “Any news from the rest of the Order?”

Tonks groaned. “It’s too early for Order business.”

_ “Tonks.” _

“Not since last night, Remus. Has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?” 

Remus barked out a humorless laugh. “I’m pretty sure Sirius has said it a time or twenty.”

“See, you should listen to my cousin and I. Er, cousin? Second cousin? Whatever.” She brandished her fork at him. “We’re making a rule. No Order business before noon.”

“Neither of you make a habit of waking up before noon, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Exactly!” Tonks beamed. 

Remus let out a breath. “You do realize we’re in the middle of a war, don’t you? We don’t exactly have time to sleep in.”

“It’s not like we can actually do anything,” Tonks grumbled sullenly. “Harry is out doing the really dangerous stuff, and we’re just… stuck here. Waiting.”

“There’s plenty we can do to help.”

Tonks snorted. “Like what?” 

“Now that Dumbledore is… gone—” Remus couldn’t quite bring himself to say  _ dead _ , couldn’t quite force himself to acknowledge that the man who’d given him a second chance at life was well and truly gone, “—we’re in charge of the Order of the Phoenix. We’re the last line of defense against You-Know-Who.”

“And we can hardly leave Grimmauld Place to get groceries without being attacked. Hence, ice cream for breakfast,” Tonks said, digging for a peanut butter cup with her fork. 

“Remus?” Sirius appeared at the top of the stairs, running a hand through his silken black hair. His clothes were rumpled with sleep, and he scrubbed a tired hand down his face. He sounded put-out as he trundled down the stairs. “You gave me a heart attack, Moony. I woke up and you were gone.”

Remus flushed. After what Sirius had done for him last night, he found it hard to look his friend in the eye. Sirius had spent countless full moons with him during their time at Hogwarts, but this time was… different. Just the two of them, side by side, Sirius taking care of Remus as Remus lost his mind. There was a vulnerability to it that hadn’t been there before. 

And God, even after twelve years in Azkaban, Sirius was beautiful. He was still too thin for Remus’s liking, leaving his features sharp and angular, and the haunted look in his eyes had yet to fade entirely—but his skin had regained its healthy glow, and he had shaved off the matted beard that clung to his face when Remus saw him that first time. His face was just as striking as it had been in their Hogwarts days—cheekbones protruding sharply from his narrow face, full, pouting lips that dimpled when he smiled—and the sleek, dark hair tumbling over his shoulders hadn’t yet started to grey. 

Remus’s heart twinged. He’d almost forgotten how Sirius looked in the mornings, and the sight of him now—sleepy and disheveled, but no less beautiful for it—was too much to handle. 

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Remus said. “I was just making coffee.”

“Coffee?” Sirius’s eyes widened. “As long as there’s enough to share, all is forgiven.”

Remus’s brow pinched. “How late were you up last night?”

“You started changing back pretty early in the morning, then passed out. I had to drag you into bed. You’re quite heavy, you know, and you really didn’t have to be so  _ tall _ .”

Remus’s flush deepened. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I don’t remember—” 

“Oh, stop fussing, will you? You were perfectly tame. The only person you wound up hurting was yourself.” Sirius’s eyes flicked over Remus’s bandaged arms. “Speaking of, how are you feeling this morning? I tried to keep you from hurting yourself too badly, but there was only so much I could do…”

Remus’s lips ticked up into a smile. “Who’s fussing now?”

Sirius scowled. 

“I’m fine, Sirius. Now stop glaring at me before I decide not to make you any coffee.”

Sirius grumbled under his breath and dropped into a chair next to Tonks.

Remus chuckled. “The water should be hot by now. Stay there, and try not to bother your cousin.”

“My cousin thinks I’m marvelous,” Sirius drawled, draping an arm over the back of her chair.

“I think you're a git,” Tonks said without looking up. 

“See? Family bonding at its finest.” 

Tonks snorted. 

Sirius reached over his shoulder and rummaged through a drawer. He emerged with a very bent spoon and a triumphant look on his face, then dove toward Tonks’ half-finished carton of ice cream. 

Tonks elbowed him in the ribs. “Get your own!” 

“But it’s cookie dough!” 

“You two are children,” Remus scolded. 

“You know what our family is like, Moony. We never had childhoods, so we make up for it now.” Sirius grabbed the carton out of Tonks’ hands, and Remus pretended his friend’s confession didn’t make his chest ache. 

***

When the door to the basement, it hit the wall with a sound like a gunshot, and Lucius Malfoy stormed inside. 

Draco straightened. “Father? Where’s Mother?”

“She didn’t want to see you locked up in this place like the God-forsaken animal you are,” Lucius snarled. 

Draco kept his eyes straight ahead and said nothing more. 

Lucius had once been a respected wizard, a ministry man—tall, imposing, impeccable. Though tall and thin as a rail, he was always perfectly composed: clothing freshly ironed, face freshly shaved. Draco still remembered the words his father had drilled into him when he was but a child:  _ Sit up straight, Draco. Know your place, Draco. Our blood is pure, tracing back centuries, and our name is respected all across the wizarding world. The second you bring dishonor upon us, I will make you wish you’d never been born.  _

If only he knew how badly Draco already wished it. 

The Lucius of Draco’s childhood had been a fearsome spectre of cruel, vicious composure. One foot out of line, and Draco would be punished. 

This was not that man. 

And Draco feared him all the more for it. 

Lucius’ hair was greasy and littered with streaks of grey, his jaw was sheathed in stubble. Wrinkles spiderwebbed across his sharp, thin face, as if he had aged ten years in only a few weeks, and rumpled robes fell from his near-skeletal frame. His features were so sharp they threatened to break through the taut, pale skin of his face, pulled so tight over his skull that he had the look of a deflated corpse, and there was a sheen of madness in his gunmetal-grey eyes. 

Lucius started to pace across the cold stone. “The Dark Lord is merciful,” he muttered. 

“What?”

“Even after you disgraced yourself, he is willing to give you a second chance. He is willing to let you prove your loyalty to him once and for all.”

Everything inside Draco went still and cold. “I don’t understand.”

Lucius growled. “Are you stupid? This is your chance at redemption!”

“What will he do to me if I fail?” Draco looked up, meeting his father’s eyes for the first time. 

Lucius’s face contorted, lips pulling back from his teeth in an inhuman snarl. “I suppose he will kill you. If he does, you should be grateful.”

Draco flinched as if he had been struck. 

“Look at yourself!” Lucius snarled, seizing Draco’s chin hard enough to leave bruises. “You’re a fucking animal! You’re being given the opportunity to win glory for yourself and this family, and you want to… what? Turn it away?” 

“No, I… I…”

“You’re useless. Pathetic.” Lucius released his son’s face and straightened to his full height. “You will rot down here until you see reason. Only then will I set you free.” He turned to leave. 

“Father, wait,” Draco blurted. 

Lucius froze. “Yes?”

Draco didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be beholden to the Dark Lord’s will and mercy, to rely on the man who had turned him into a monster. But he did want his father to be proud of him. Besides, the shackles rubbed terribly against his aching wrists, and it was cold down here, so cold, and he needed to bandage the wounds on his arms, and at this point he was pretty sure he’d sell his soul to crawl into bed and pretend that everything was okay. 

What did it matter if Draco died, anyway? His father had said it best himself. Draco was weak, pathetic, useless. An animal. A waste of space. If the Dark Lord killed him… maybe it would be a mercy. Maybe he would finally find an escape from the cold, cruel world that had brought him nothing but pain. 

“What do you want me to do?”

Lucius’s face went cold. “You failed to kill Dumbledore. You were too weak to do what needed to be done, and Severus had to fix your mistake. Do you know how embarrassing it is that a half-blood did what my own son could not?”

“Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard in the world, Father. I did my best—”

A  _ crack _ rang out through the room as Lucius backhanded Draco across the face. “Don’t talk back to me, boy!” Lucius snarled. “The Dark Lord is the most powerful wizard in the world, and you are nothing, do you hear me?  _ Nothing _ .”

Draco lifted a hand to his stinging cheek, but did not cry out. He was used to it by now. 

Lucius straightened, a mask of unnerving calm falling over his features. “If you hope to prove yourself, you must do what you failed to do once before. You must kill the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Who’s leading it now?” Draco asked. 

“Remus Lupin.”

Draco’s muscles locked up. He remembered their third year teacher, of course, though the two had never particularly gotten along. Draco had always thought Lupin’s…  _ unconventional _ teaching methods were ridiculous—no pun intended—and after he’d found out the man was a werewolf, of course Draco wouldn’t have anything to do with him. 

But there had been one day, early on in the year, when Draco thought that maybe their new teacher wasn’t so bad. It was a day in late winter when the wind was biting and cold, and Draco had just gotten back from Christmas break. The weather was convenient; no one would question the long sleeves Draco wore to hide his bruises. But Lupin had nevertheless pulled Draco aside after class. 

And offered him chocolate. 

For weeks afterwards, Draco had wondered  _ why _ . Had his collar ridden down to reveal his throat? Were the bags under his eyes deeper than usual? Eventually, he settled on the conclusion that seemed most likely: Lupin was manipulating Draco, using him for his family’s wealth and influence. 

But still, when Draco thought of Lupin, he tasted chocolate. 

“Why me?” Draco asked. His voice was little more than a whisper. 

“You’re both half-breeds. He’s in hiding, but the Dark Lord thinks you’ll be able to sniff him out.” 

Draco looked up. “What if I can’t?” 

“If you fail, you are no longer my son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter 2! Sorry for all the gratuitous Sirius-simping, but he’s just too goddamn pretty, so deal with it. I know it’s super Wolfstar-centric right now, because I love these two idiots too much, but they’re gonna meet Draco soon, I promise. 
> 
> In case it wasn’t obvious, Remus and Tonks will not have any sort of romantic relationship in this fic. Their whole romance in the book never sat right with me. Remus is thirty-six and Tonks is twenty-four, plus, Tonks is too punk rock to settle down with a dark academia werewolf who reads all day. Also, in my interpretation, neither of them are heterosexual. No shame if you like them together, but just FYI, there’s going to be no romantic tension between them. (Tonks will, however, inhabit the role of Lesbian Wine Aunt.)
> 
> Anyways, the adoption process will *likely* start next chapter. It will be an intense, painful slow burn, though, so get ready for that. See you on Friday!
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW! 250 hits, you guys are awesome. Thanks to everyone reading, and a special shoutout to everyone who has left kudos or commented. I love hearing your guys's thoughts, and the thought that someone is enjoying something I wrote is the best feeling in the world. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy chapter three! 
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle

It was a gray day in Diagon Alley. The buildings did little to stave off the wind that buffeted Draco’s cloak and stung his face. The clouds were dark with threat of rain, and the torrents of slushy, dirty snow that had fallen the day before were piled on either side of the road. Draco’s boots slid on the icy cobblestones beneath his feet. 

Diagon Alley was now a mere skeleton of what it had been before the War. Abandoned buildings and piles of wreckage lined the cobbled streets, their shattered windows like empty eyes that stared into Draco’s soul. They mirrored the eyes of the witches and wizards who passed, the eyes they kept studiously turned away from his face, the eyes that seemed to whisper accusations in his ear. They rang inside Draco’s head with every footstep:  _ Death Eater. Death Eater. You did this.  _

Draco tried to push the voices away. He was used to them by now. 

He walked through the near-empty streets, passed the gaunt and tired faces of the witches and wizards who swept up rubble and rebuilt the once-great Diagon Alley. Draco kept his head down.

_ Undesirable No. 1 _ posters were plastered over the walls of the Alley. Draco knew the face that blinked out at him almost as well as his own: messy dark hair, eyes as green as the trees of the forbidden forest, round spectacles—and a lightning-bolt scar. A face he had hated so deeply, and yet Draco still couldn’t look away. 

Shaking himself, Draco reached up and tore the nearest poster from the wall, crumpling it in his fist before dropping it onto the damp cobblestones. 

Draco had no idea where to find the Order of the Phoenix. That was the problem with sending a lone sixteen-year-old werewolf to track down some of Voldemort’s most powerful opponents—he was deeply, shamefully underqualified. But luckily for Draco, some members of the Order were less honorable than others, and Severus Snape happened to know exactly where to find a snitch. 

Which was how Draco wound up wandering through the skeleton of Diagon Alley in his finest cloak, casting nervous glances over his shoulder as he clutched something in his coat pocket. 

_ If you want to catch a mouse, first you have to set the trap.  _

“Excuse me, sir—I think you dropped something!”

Draco turned. The man standing before him was short and grubby, with a scraggly beard that clung to his weak chin. His ginger hair was coated in so much grease that it looked like it would be wet to the touch, and his red, pockmarked nose was much too large for the rest of his face. 

He certainly matched the description Snape had given him. Draco wrinkled his nose. 

“What is it?” Draco asked, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. 

The man took a step closer, and Draco let him. When he opened his grubby hand, Draco saw three round knuts resting on his palm. “I saw them fall out of your pocket, sir.” 

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Thank you very much.”

“It’s no problem, sir, no problem at all—not for an upstanding citizen like me.” He offered Draco a gap-toothed grin. 

Draco opened his hand expectantly—his right hand, the same one he’d been using to protect the treasure in his pocket only a few seconds ago. He was loathe to touch anything this dirty little man had laid his hands on, but then, some sacrifices would have to be made. The little man hobbled forward and dropped the knuts into Draco’s waiting palm. 

The man was good, Draco gave him that. If he hadn’t been watching for it, he wouldn’t have noticed the man’s hand slipping into his pocket. 

It was all the confirmation Draco needed. He seized the little man by the shirt collar and hauled him into a nearby alley, slamming him up against the side of the wall. The man cried out, but no one came to help. The people milling in Diagon Alley had seen far worse and done nothing about it.

“Mundungus Fletcher,” Draco snarled. In the seconds it had taken Fletcher to understand what was happening, Draco had already drawn his wand, and now it was pressing into the dry, wrinkled flesh under Fletcher’s chin. 

“I-I’m very sorry, sir,” Fletcher stuttered. His ruddy face went pale when he saw the cold look in Draco’s eyes. “I meant no offense, honestly.” 

Draco smirked. “Of course you didn’t.”

Fletcher’s small, pouchy eyes watered. “How do you know my name?”

“I’ve been looking for you. Or did you really think I was stupid enough to wander around with anything more valuable than an acorn in my pocket?”  
Fletcher’s mouth gaped. His gaze darted to the prize still clutched in his dirty hand, and when he saw that it was indeed an acorn, he dropped it like it had burned him. “W-what do you want with me?” he panted. 

Draco dug the tip of his wand in harder against Fletcher’s throat. “I want you to tell me where to find Remus Lupin.”

Fletcher blanched. “I can’t do that.”

“You will.”

“No, I… I…” 

“Do you know what the Cruciatus Curse feels like, Fletcher?” Draco purred. “Some say it feels like razors flaying you open, or being skinned alive. For me, it felt like I was on fire. Burning to death is the most painful way to die, you know, but it’s quite messy.” Draco’s face twisted. “But the pain is more than just physical. It’s mental, too—it’s comparable, I think, to losing everyone you love in a split second. To seeing them die in front of you.”

Mundungus Fletcher sucked in a breath. “Please.”

Draco continued on like he hadn’t heard. “If you don’t tell me where to find Remus Lupin,” he said, “I will torture you until you lose your mind. And by the time I finally kill you, you will be begging for death.”

Fletcher was shaking underneath his hands. He shook his head, tears brimming in his bulging eyes. “You won’t. You’re just a kid—”

Draco jammed his wand harder into Fletcher’s throat. “You think I’m weak?”

“No—no! Of course not!”  
“Try me. See if I won’t,” Draco growled. “I will not fail my father again.”

“You don’t understand.” Fletcher shook his head. “I’m not the Secret Keeper. I can’t tell you.”

“Who is the Secret Keeper?” Draco demanded. “Don’t even think about lying.”

Fletcher went still.

“Say it!” Draco snarled, slamming the man against the wall. 

“Dumbledore,” Fletcher sobbed, sagging in Draco’s grip. “Albus Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper.” 

“So you were lying,” Draco spat. “Dumbledore is dead, and you’re perfectly capable of telling me where to find Remus Lupin. You thought you could weasel your way out of this one, did you?”

Fletcher’s panic reached a fever pitch. He lunged, faster than he had any right to be, and before Draco could react, the man’s elbow crashed into his nose. Something cracked. Blood gushed down Draco’s face in a warm, sticky torrent, and Draco stumbled back, clutching at his face. 

Fletcher took off down the alley, shrieking for someone to help him, help him, there was a Death Eater following him. Gritting his teeth, Draco gave chase. 

Fletcher was slippery. Draco had underestimated the man—he wouldn’t make that mistake again. But in a chase, Draco’s long, thin frame gave him the advantage. He ignored the way his wounds ached and pulled with every step and pushed himself further, harder, cursing when the blood pouring from his nose made it hard to breathe. 

Fletcher cast a panicked glance over his shoulder. He knew he couldn’t escape—Draco saw it in his eyes. But Snape had told him about Fletcher’s favorite trick—when you’re in trouble, apparate out of it. 

Draco knew it was coming. He lunged, head first, hand stretched out. His fingers wrapped around the Mundungus’s ankle just before the man blinked out of sight. 

The peculiar feeling of being squeezed through a very large tube. Then Draco was spat out onto the rough pavement and went flying, skidding across the asphalt as Fletcher took off running in the opposite direction. Draco’s robes shredded, along with the skin underneath.

For a second, Draco could only lie there, panting.  _ Father is going to kill me _ . 

But he couldn’t let Fletcher get away, not now. He forced himself to his feet, wincing as the torn flesh along his back and shoulder throbbed. 

They were standing outside of a set of old, dilapidated row houses, in the middle of what seemed to be a muggle neighborhood. The windows of the units were warped and cracked; a few were boarded over entirely, and the dull paint on the walls was chipped and peeling. They had landed just between units eleven and thirteen.

Draco’s brow furrowed. Twelve was missing. 

Fletcher had taken off in a run toward the building, shrieking louder than a banshee in a graveyard. He kept throwing terrified glances over his shoulder at the pale, bloody boy standing behind him. 

“Remus, Sirius, help.  _ Help me!” _

Draco aimed his wand at the man’s retreating back.  _ “Alarte Ascendare!”  _

The moment the spell hit, Fletcher’s body was thrown into the air. He pinwheeled, grabbing at nothing with his small, grubby hands, screaming even louder than before. Draco swore. Was the man trying to alert every muggle in the vicinity of their presence? He took off in a run. 

When Fletcher landed, Draco was already there. He grabbed the man’s collar and hauled him up, digging his wand in harder under the man’s chin. “That was stupid,” he seethed. 

Fletcher’s voice rose. “Remus! Sirius!  _ Please!”  _

“Shut up!” Draco shook him. “Remus Lupin—is he here?”

Fletcher only sobbed. 

Draco spun the man around so that he was facing the row house. That was where Fletcher had been running to—so when the attack came, that was where it would come from. 

“Come out, Lupin!” Draco called. “You have ten seconds before Fletcher dies. Ten!” 

No one moved. No one spoke. 

“Nine! Eight! Seven!”

Fletcher sagged, wretched sobs shaking his diminutive frame.

“Six! Five!”

“Remus!” Fletcher struggled against Draco’s hold. “Sirius! Please help me, he’s going to kill me!” 

“Four… Three… two…” 

The ground underneath Draco’s feet shuddered. He staggered, trying desperately to keep his footing as the row house in front of him warped and expanded, and a brand new unit appeared before his eyes. This one was even more dilapidated than the others, with boarded windows and a faded stone exterior that was so dirty it was almost black. 

Three figures stepped out from the old, tired door. He recognized the man with the long, dark hair immediately—he had been all over the news during Draco’s third year. Sirius Black, the Prisoner of Azkaban. 

The woman, Draco didn’t recognize. She was almost as tall as Black, but where his clothes were refined, hers were eccentric. Where his hair was dark, hers was bubblegum pink. 

And then there was the third man. Draco’s knees practically went weak with relief when he saw his face. 

He had done it. 

He had found Remus Lupin. 

***

Draco Malfoy looked like hell.   
The bruised shadows under his eyes were deep, vivid purple, impossibly dark against his bone-white skin, and his silver-white hair was an unruly mess that obscured his pointed features. His nose was crooked—most likely broken—and blood was gushing from it, staining his skin and robes crimson. The boy lost weight, and now his clothes hung off his skeletal frame. His eyes were sunken and lifeless. 

And he was holding Mundungus Fletcher with a wand at his throat. 

Remus raised his hands. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He took a step forward. 

Draco lurched back, pressing his wand harder into the flesh under Fletcher’s chin. “Don’t come any closer,” he snarled. 

Remus stopped in his tracks. “Would you let my friend go, please? Whatever he’s done wrong, I’ll make it up.” 

“I’m not here for him,” the boy spat. “I’m here for you.”

Beside him, Sirius growled. “Like hell you are!”

Remus held up a hand. “Whatever problem you have with me, I’m sure we can solve this peacefully.” 

“No, we can’t.” Draco tightened his hold on Fletcher, jerking him back another step. “I’m either killing him or killing you. It’s your choice.”

Remus reeled back. When he’d known Draco in his third year, he hadn’t thought Draco was capable of something like this. The boy had been… unpleasant, sure, a bit of a bully, but not  _ this _ . Not a murderer. 

Remus had never known Draco well. But it was clear that whoever was standing in front of him was a complete stranger. 

“Why do you want to kill me, Draco?” Remus asked. 

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me. If I’m going to die, I at least want to know what I’m dying for.”

Sirius’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “No one is dying!”

“Sirius, please.” Remus cut his friend a look. “Draco, why do you want to kill me?”

Draco’s eyes darted around frantically. There was something about him, something… off. Whatever it was, the boy didn’t look completely sane. “You’re the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. I killed Dumbledore, and I’ll kill you, too!”

“You didn’t kill Dumbledore,” Remus corrected gently. 

It was the wrong thing to say. “I’m the reason he’s dead, aren’t I?” the boy roared. “I got the Death Eaters into the castle. Me. You have no right to rob me of my achievements!” 

“Most people wouldn’t call killing an achievement.”

Draco snarled. “I’m not weak.”

“I never said you were.”

The boy jabbed his wand harder against Fletcher’s throat. “I’ll do it—I swear I’ll do it! I’ll use the Cruciatus Curse, I’ll… I’ll kill him!”

“Draco, stop this.”

The boy raised his wand.  _ “Sectumsempra!” _

A razor-sharp, whip-like tongue of magic lashed towards Remus. He couldn’t dodge—he didn’t have time. All he could do was watch as the curse barrelled forward. 

Sirius’s body slammed into Remus, and they toppled to the ground. Remus landed hard, wheezing as he blinked stars from his eyes and tried desperately to catch the breath that had been knocked out of his lungs. 

“Good timing,” he gasped. 

Sirius said nothing. 

“Sirius?” When his friend remained silent, Remus started to panic in earnest. “Sirius!” He sat up, clutching his friend to his chest so that Sirius didn’t slump to the ground. Already, he was too weak to support himself. What had the boy done to him?

“Sirius, talk to me,” Remus begged. He smoothed a soothing hand down Sirius’s back. 

His fingers came away wet with blood. 

Remus’s stomach roiled. There was so much of it—too much. It was all he could do to swallow the bile in his throat. 

An agonized groan escaped Sirius’s lips as Remus eased him onto the ground, and the sound cracked Remus’s chest in two. “It’s going to be okay, Sirius. Stay still.” 

“Remus?” Sirius panted. 

“I’m here. Shh, try not to move.” He cradled Sirius’s head in his lap, smoothing his friend’s hair away from his brow as he finally dared to glance at the wound on Sirius’s back. He sucked in a breath. 

The gash was horribly, impossibly deep. Remus could see the pink of rent flesh, the scarlet of fresh blood, and beneath it all, the ivory-white of bone. 

Sectumsempra. Remus had never heard of that spell before. 

_ What the hell had Draco done?  _

When Remus looked up, Draco was even more pale than before, and his hand was shaking so hard he could barely hold his wand. But there was steely resolve in his grey eyes. “I told you I’d do it,” he spat. “Next time will be worse.”

Remus’s eyes darted between the boy—thin and pale, but with a snarl on his face—and Sirius, his best friend, bleeding out on the ground. “Tonks,” he growled, “take care of Sirius. If it’s a duel the boy wants, it’s a duel he’ll get.” 

Draco’s eyes flared in triumph. “No one else will interfere?”

“Honor is the foundation of a wizard’s duel. I’ll beat you, and I’ll do it by myself,” Remus said, his hand fisting around his wand. 

“Stop it,” Tonks hissed. She was crouched by Sirius’s side, trying her best to staunch the bleeding, but Sirius wa getting paler by the second. “He wants to kill you, Remus.”

But one look at Sirius’s blank face was all it took to stoke the rage and terror burning a hole through his chest. “Get Sirius inside and taken care of. I’ll hold the boy off long enough for you to get him to safety.” 

“Remus, stop!” 

Remus could hardly hear her over the roaring in his ears. Draco had hurt Sirius. He had  _ hurt _ him. if he thought he could get away with it, he had another thing coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading! Sorry for the cliffhanger! xD   
> Stay tuned, I'll be posting promptly on Monday. 
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: blood, child abuse flashbacks, PTSD 
> 
> Hello everyone, and happy Monday! I’ve been feeling in a *romantic mood* this weekend so we have a TINY hint of Drarry today, for funsies. Plus a lot of angst, as always, but we're finally getting to the Lupin and Draco interactions that were really the inspiration for this story, so I’m pretty excited. This chapter was especially fun to write, so I hope you guys enjoy it. 
> 
> One of the scenes in this chapter is a flashback of something that happened in the books, but from Draco’s perspective. I tried to keep it as close to the original as possible, keeping all the same dialogue and things, but I took a few creative liberties here and there. 
> 
> Once again, I want to say thank you to every single one of you. I’ve been shocked at the reception of this story. Everyone has been so kind, and now I’m at 550 hits! Nothing makes me happier than sharing my story with you all, so the fact that it makes you happy, too, is truly incredible. Special thanks to everyone who has left kudos or a comment, I always do a little happy dance when I see what you guys have to say. 
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle

Draco shoved Fletcher away from himself, and the small, grubby man apparated away instantly. In front of him, Lupin scowled. “Coward,” his old teacher muttered.

The pink-haired woman had Sirius Black flipped onto his stomach. Her hands were stained red up to her elbows as she tried her best to staunch the bleeding, ripping strips from her oversized shirt to make bandages. 

Draco didn’t know why he had used the spell that had almost killed him last year. It was just that the way Lupin was  _ looking _ at him… it had reminded him of Potter’s eyes after he had cast the curse that ripped Draco’s face and chest to shreds, when Draco was slowly dying on the bathroom floor. In those few, stolen moments between Potter casting the curse and Snape rushing in, it almost looked like Potter  _ pitied _ him—and when he’d seen the look on Lupin’s face, it was more than he could stand.

That had been the day Draco decided he wasn’t worth saving. 

And now Sirius Black was bleeding out on the ground. Draco felt like he was going to be sick as the memories came back to him in a rush… 

***

_ Draco was crying.  _

_ If his father saw him like this, he’d beat him senseless—but after everything that had happened, Draco couldn’t hold it in. Not anymore.  _

_ “Don’t,” Moaning Myrtle crooned. “Tell me what’s wrong… I can help you…”  _

_ A shudder coursed through him, and he tightened his grip on the sides of the sink that was all but holding him up. “No one can help me,” he forced out between sobs. “I can’t do it… I can’t… It won’t work… and unless I do it soon… he says he’ll kill me…”  _

_ Myrtle’s ever-present frown deepened.  _

_How pathetic was it that the only person he could really talk to was long dead, killed by the very man he was now sworn to serve? How weak did it make him that he relied on the comfort of a ghost that was almost as miserable as he was?_ _  
__Draco looked up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. God, he looked awful—tie crooked around his neck, shirt rumpled, cheekbones protruding sharply from his too-thin face. His wide grey eyes were red-rimmed and afraid. The hair that he always kept so meticulously slicked back was long and unruly, hanging in tangled, sweaty strands around his face, and his already-pale skin had taken on such a sickly pallor that he was almost surprised to find that he wasn’t see-through._

_ He looked almost as ghostly as Myrtle.  _

_ Something moved in the mirror behind Draco, and his head snapped up. Potter was standing in the doorway, watching him.  _

_ Potter, the boy with such green eyes it ached to look at him sometimes. Potter, with his messy hair and crooked glasses, with his tie that was never tied quite right and his shirt that was only half-tucked into his trousers. God, he was so stupidly beautiful—that was exactly why Draco loathed him.  _

_ And now… now he had seen Draco at his absolute worst, crying in a bathroom with only a ghost for company. He had seen Draco as he truly was.  _

_ Weak.  _

_ Cowardly.  _

Worthless _.  _

_ And Draco did the only thing he knew how to do. He lashed out.  _

_ His first hex missed—of course it did. Even after everything, he was so stupidly obsessed that he didn’t want to cause his rival any more pain. It was more of a warning shot than anything, a clear message to  _ get the fuck away _.  _

_ But then Potter fired a hex right back at him, and the fight was on.  _

_ “No! Stop it! Stop it!” Myrtle was sobbing, flying around frantically and trying to get between the two boys.  _

_ Draco’s world came screeching to a halt as something behind his ear shattered. The sound was too close, too familiar—he could hear his father shouting after him, see him waving that empty bottle of firewhiskey and smell the liquor on his breath. He could feel the pain as his father’s fist buried itself in Draco’s gut, and he sank to the floor, the shards of broken glass from the firewhiskey bottle cutting into his skin with every move.  _

_ Draco forgot where he was—he forgot  _ who _ he was. And all of a sudden, he was just a scared little boy with tears in his eyes and a wand clutched in his fist.  _

_ He just wanted the pain to stop.  _

_ Draco held out his wand. “Cruci—” _

_ “SECTUMSEMPRA!” _

_ Pain, white-hot and burning, lashed across Draco’s face and chest. Blood spurted, hot and thick, and Draco clutched at his chest, trying to stop the flow.  _

_ The water under his feet was stained pink with his blood. Water—one of the sinks had broken, and was spewing all across the cold stone floor. It wasn’t a bottle that had shattered, and the boy standing in front of him wasn’t his father. It was Harry.  _

_ Harry, who Draco had almost tortured…  _

_ Suddenly, Draco could no longer support himself. His knees gave out, and he crashed to the floor.  _

_ There was a gasp, so faint he barely heard it: “No.” _

_Draco was wheezing, gasping for breath as his blood leaked out. He clutched at the largest gash. Was this it?_ _  
__After everything Draco had done to survive, was this how he would die?_

_ “No—I didn’t—” _

_ Potter crashed to his knees by Draco’s side. He looked strangely stricken as he stared down at the boy on the floor, as he pressed his hands against the wound on Draco’s chest. He was muttering something under his breath, but Draco couldn’t make out the words. Potter’s hands were warm, so warm, and suddenly Draco felt much too cold.  _

_ And all he could think was that Harry looked goddamn beautiful with tears in his eyes.  _

_ *** _

Draco was ripped back into the present by the sound of a scream. The pink-haired woman was doing her best to seal the wound on Sirius Black’s back, but it was obvious that healing magic wasn’t her strong suit. The man was writhing on the ground, his face white as blood pooled around him on the pavement. 

Lupin’s hands were shaking where he clutched his wand. He closed his eyes, and Draco saw him take a deep breath. 

Apparently, his third year teacher was friends with Sirius Black. That was the only thing that explained the agony on Lupin’s face, and the change the man had gone through when Draco cast his spell. One minute, he was the kindly professor Draco was familiar with—but when his friend went down, the rage in his eyes was unlike anything Draco had ever known. 

And now he was going to duel a man twice his age. 

Draco was starting to think he should’ve thought this through a bit more thoroughly. 

Before Draco had a chance to initiate, Lupin’s wand slashed through the air, and a spell came hurtling towards him. Draco barely managed to sidestep, and the spell went whizzing past Draco’s ear. His eyes widened. He hadn’t expected the older wizard to attack him with such fury. 

Draco sent a stunning spell right back at Lupin, but he blocked easily, prowling forward. “Sloppy. Didn’t I teach you better than that, Draco?” 

Draco snarled, willing his hands to stop shaking. “I’m just getting started.” He launched another spell at the man, which Lupin dodged, using Draco’s momentary distraction to fire off another spell. It hit Draco square in the chest. His feet left the ground, and he was blown back, the breath leaving his body as he was slammed hard against the wall behind him. Draco groaned. 

Lupin was a skilled dueler—much more skilled than Potter, who relied so heavily on Expelliarmus that he was very easy to predict. And Draco was no match for him. 

Lupin walked closer, but didn’t fire off another spell until Draco pushed himself to his feet. Lucius Malfoy would’ve taken the opportunity to kick him while he was down, but Lupin didn’t—and Draco hated him all the more for it. What was he doing, playing with Draco? Was he really so confident that he could win? 

This time, Draco did not hesitate before hurling a fire spell at Lupin with all his might. Lupin dodged—but this time, he wasn’t fast enough. The spell brushed his arm, and the sleeve of his robe started to smoke before catching fire. Lupin hissed an incantation under his breath, and the flame went out. 

The older wizard’s eyes widened as he stared down at his charred sleeve. 

Draco smiled in grim satisfaction. “You should’ve ended this when you had the chance.” 

The two wizards traded blows, faster this time. The fight was like a dance: lunge, duck, twist, avoid, fire off a spell and duck before the countercurse can hit you. Lupin’s grimace deepened the longer the fight went on. Draco could tell he was distracted—Sirius Black’s moans had fallen silent, and Lupin kept casting glances over his shoulder. But Draco was razor-focused. If he did this, maybe his father would accept him again. If he succeeded, maybe his father would love him. 

Draco snarled, shoving sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Stop holding back,” he spat. 

Lupin fired off another curse. Draco deflected it easily—he could tell Lupin wasn’t trying to do any real damage, not like Draco was. “You might be a monster, Draco, but you’re still a child.” 

“I don’t need a half-breed dog like you to go easy on me!” 

“A dog, am I? At least I’m not a coward.”

_ “I’m not a coward!” _ Draco roared. He flung another spell at Lupin’s chest. 

Suddenly, Lupin’s face merged with his father’s, and when he spoke, Draco heard Lucius’s voice. “Only a coward attacks a man when he’s unarmed.”

“Stop it!” 

“You fight with no honor. You’re like a cornered animal—all aggression and no finesse.”

“I said,  _ stop!” _ The words to a curse were building on Draco’s tongue. 

But then a spell hit Draco square in the chest, and he went tumbling backwards. He was aware of his wounds screaming as he landed hard on the pavement, and the hoarse cry that forced itself from his throat as pain flared through him. Then Draco was aware of nothing at all.

***

Remus whirled on Tonks, whose wand was still pointed at the unconscious boy. “What the hell?” Remus demanded. “The duel was supposed to be one-on-one.”

Tonks tucked her wand back inside her robes. Her shaking hands were covered in blood. “I know, but I’m no good at healing magic, and Sirius needs help  _ now _ . I had no choice but to stun the boy.”

Remus’s eyes flicked to where Sirius was lying motionless on the ground, and all the anger drained from his body. Sirius was drenched in his own blood, sticky with it, and he looked far too pale. The gash in his back was too deep—it would be fatal if left unchecked for too long. 

Remus dropped to his knees by his friend’s side, pulling Sirius’s head into his lap. He smoothed Sirius’s sweat-soaked hair away from his face. “Sirius? Talk to me.” His voice cracked. 

Sirius only groaned. 

Remus clutched his friend tighter. “Stay with me, Sirius. Hold on for just a little bit longer.” He leveled his wand over the wound. 

A curious tingling sensation flooded Remus’s body, and the gash on Sirius’s back started to knit itself closed. Lupin sagged in relief. But Sirius was still much too pale, and by the look of it, he had lost too much blood. They weren’t out of the woods yet. 

“Tonks,” Remus commanded. “Get the boy and bring him inside. I’ll take care of Sirius.”

_ “What?  _ We’re taking the kid?” 

“He knows where we are now, we can’t exactly let him go.” Remus shook his head. “I’ll cast a memory charm on him and let him go, but first I have to find out who exactly he told about our location.” 

Tonks stood, rolling her eyes, and walked over to the boy. She toed him with her boot. “He’s out cold.” 

“Good. Get him inside before he wakes up again.”

Tonks wrinkled her nose. “He’s such a miserable little git.”

“You do know he’s your cousin, don’t you?”

“Why am I always related to the worst people?” Tonks grumbled. 

Remus slid his arms under Sirius and pulled him to his chest as gently as he could. The blood on his skin was cooling rapidly, and Remus forced back a shiver as he forced himself to his feet. 

Behind him, Tonks had cast a levitation charm on the unconscious Malfoy boy. She flicked her wand to nudge him forward, but she misjudged the direction, and the boy’s floating body slammed into the wall next to the door. “Oops,” Tonks deadpanned. 

Remus sighed. “Really?”

“He deserved it.”

“He’s a kid.” 

“He’s a  _ Malfoy.” _

Remus let out a breath. He’d worry about the boy later—right now, he just needed to keep Sirius alive. He hefted Sirius into his arms and stood. 

“Hold on just a little longer,” he murmured, and then broke into a run. 

***

Sirius was still too pale. 

Remus had done all he could for his friend, and from the look of it, it would be enough. For now, all he could do was watch the steady rise and fall of Sirius’s chest and pray. 

_ It should’ve been me. _

Remus blinked away the tears that rose in his eyes. Sirius had gotten hurt protecting  _ him _ , had taken the pain so that Remus wouldn’t have to. “You idiot,” Remus murmured, rubbing his thumb in small, soothing circles over the back of Sirius’s hand. “You shouldn’t have done what you did.” 

But if Sirius was anything, he was selfless. Remus had seen that time and again. Sirius felt things so… vividly, so deeply, that he would gladly put himself in danger rather than see the people he cared about in danger. For all his life, he had protected Regulus from the horrors his family subjected him to, and now he was protecting Remus. 

Remus rested his forehead on the bed next to Sirius and listened to his friend breathe. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. It wasn’t until Tonks burst into the room that he lifted his head. 

“Remus,” she said. “I think you need to see this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Sorry again for the cliffhanger—don't worry, I'll update promptly on Thursday (I'm in the Pacific Coastal time zone, and I'm posting my chapters right after I wake up.) 
> 
> Once again, thank you all for your support! Let me know what you think in the comments <3
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobia and strong homophobic language, slight gore
> 
> Hello, there, and happy Thursday!!
> 
> Weirdly, this was probably my favorite chapter to write so far. Also, Tonks is officially my favorite character, and I will simp for her until I die. 
> 
> Wow, I can’t BELIEVE this fic is up to 900 hits! I’ve said it before, but I was seriously expecting no one to read this, so I’m THRILLED that you guys are enjoying it. As always, special thanks to everyone who leaves kudos or kind comments. It absolutely makes my day that much brighter. To quote @February_11_to_16, your guys’ comments "butter my beer and girl, I’ve never tasted anything so greasy.” So seriously, thank you to every single one of you—you guys keep me going. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Without further ado, here is the promised *angst.*
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle

The boy was covered in scars. 

His bare chest was thin and pale. Ribs jutted sharply from his abdomen, and swirling bruises covered every inch of his body—some old, some fresh. Whatever had done this to him, it wasn’t a one-time occurrence. Bloody circles ringed his wrists, like he had been chained, and the gashes on his arm looked deep and painful. A few even looked infected, like they hadn’t been cared for properly. 

Even worse than the fresh wounds, though, were the old ones. Countless scars lanced across the boy’s abdomen, deep and crooked, like he had been clawed apart. There was a chunk of flesh missing from his side, and the scars on his throat looked like they had been made by  _ teeth _ . 

“There was blood on his shirt,” Tonks said. She was pacing back and forth across the narrow room in which they had decided to keep the boy. “I thought I might have hurt him with my stunning spell, but when I went to look I found…  _ that.” _

Remus felt sick. 

Because the pattern of the scars looked familiar to Remus. The cuffs around his wrists, the scratches on his arms and the teeth marks on his throat… but no, that was impossible. Remus wouldn’t let himself think on it for too long. 

For all Tonks’s cold words about the boy, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from those thick, roping scars covering his chest. She might not have liked Malfoy, but he was still a child.

“What could have done this to him?” Tonks murmured. “The kid can’t be more than fifteen.”

“Sixteen, if I’m remembering correctly,” Remus said.

“He’s so  _ skinny.” _

Remus knelt by the boy’s side. His wounds were swollen and smelled foul, and discolored pus leaked from the weeping pink flesh. The gashes were so numerous and so close together that it would be difficult to contain the infection. Remus pushed the sweat-slicked hair out of Malfoy’s face and rested the back of his hand on the boy’s forehead. 

Remus cursed when he felt the heat under his hand. It hadn’t been madness that he had seen in the boy’s eyes earlier—it was fever. 

Despite the fact that Draco had tried to kill him, despite the fact that he had almost killed Sirius, Remus didn’t hesitate. “Tonks, get me some rubbing alcohol, bandages, a needle and thread, and some hot water. Antibiotic ointment, too, if you can find any.”

Tonks blinked. “Can’t you just heal him?”

“I can’t seal the wounds until the infection is cleared up, or it will trap the poison inside.” He shook his head. “However the kid got these, it wasn’t clean, and he didn’t take care of them. Now he’s going to have to pay the price for it.”

“Okay.” Tonks let out a breath. “I can’t believe we’re helping the little prick.”

“If we let him suffer, we’re no better than the enemy.”

“I know.” 

Remus looked down at the boy’s pale, thin chest, at the wounds and scars that looked so familiar to him—but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on the thought. No matter how damning those scars looked, there was absolutely no way that Draco Malfoy was a werewolf.

***

Draco was slammed back into consciousness as a sharp, stinging pain engulfed his right arm. His back arched, and the sound coming out of his mouth was halfway between a snarl and a scream. 

“Dammit, he’s awake. Hold him steady, Tonks.”

A grunt. “He’s strong for someone so skinny.”

“He’s going to hurt himself!”

“Do you want me to stun him again?”

“Not if we can avoid it.” 

Draco’s vision was swimming. He turned his head to the side to see the pink-haired woman from before standing over him, pinning his arms to his sides. Draco bucked, trying to throw off her hold. 

“Stop fighting me, Draco!” hissed a voice from his side. “We’re trying to help.” 

Draco thrashed against the woman’s hold. They were hurting him, they were going to  _ hurt _ him—

“Fuck! He’s delirious. Did you bring a sleeping draught?”

“It’s on the table.”

“Draco,” said that calm, measured voice. It was closer this time. “I need you to drink this.” 

He lurched away, snarling at the proximity of the man’s voice. 

A cold glass rim was pressed against his lips. “You’re going to drink this whether you like it or not.”

Draco turned his face away. 

A hand fisted itself in his hair and forced his head up. Draco pressed his lips together, but his air was cut off when two fingers pinched his nose shut. His back bowed off the table as he fought the hands that held him. 

“What the hell are you doing, Remus?”

“If he doesn’t drink this, he’s only going to hurt himself worse.”

Draco kept fighting, but his resistance only tired him out further, and in seconds he was forced to open his mouth and take a gaping, choking breath. 

The man holding him took advantage of the opportunity and tipped the potion into Draco’s mouth. He sputtered and coughed, but with the air flow from his nose cut off, he had no choice but to swallow it. 

Immediately, the hands in his hair and on his face pulled back. “Good,” the man’s voice said. He sounded tired. “He should be asleep again soon.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He should be once the fever breaks.”

The woman sounded almost sad. “Who the hell would do this to a kid?”

Just as Draco was fading into unconsciousness, he heard the man sigh. “I don’t know.”

Draco knew the man was lying. 

***

Draco didn’t know how much time had passed the next time he stirred. He blinked, shielding his eyes against the too-bright light. 

Draco shuddered. It was cold, and when Draco looked down at himself, he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His arms had been wrapped carefully in white linen bandages, and the pain that had been hounding him for days now had subsided somewhat, but the worst of the scars on his chest were revealed. 

He was lying in a bed that wasn’t his, covered in a ratty blanket he hadn’t seen before—a blanket which he quickly pulled up to conceal his bare chest. The walls were covered in aged, yellowed wallpaper, and there was a thick coating of dust along the warped floorboards. The furnishings were fine enough, but aged: a carved wooden headboard, an old, leaning dresser, and a threadbare armchair that was almost worn through. The thick, solid-oak door to the right of the bed was ajar, leading to a bathroom that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades. 

Draco wrinkled his nose. The place was an absolute  _ mess _ . 

“Not up to your standards, Malfoy?”

Draco whirled. There, sitting in a second doorway, was the pink-haired woman from before. Her knees were curled to her chest, and she had the hood of her extra-large black sweatshirt pulled up over her head. She looked exhausted. 

Draco’s heart started to race as he realized the reality of his situation. “Who the hell are you?” Draco snarled.

“I’m the woman who’s been up half the night trying to save your miserable life. I think thanks are in order.”

Draco’s hands fisted in the ratty blanket. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.” The woman crossed her arms. “You almost killed one of our most prominent members. Remus is quite put out.”

Suddenly, Draco couldn’t catch his breath. He had been captured, and now he was being held by the very people he had attacked. He was a prisoner, and they were going to hurt him—going to  _ kill _ him—and he had failed, but all he could think was  _ I don’t want to die like this _ . He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Hey, kid—are you alright?” the woman asked. 

Draco lurched away from her, clutching the blanket tighter in his trembling hands. “What are you going to do to me?” he hissed. 

“Nothing. We couldn’t let you go, but we’re not going to hurt you—seriously, kid, you need to take a breath before you pass out or something.” 

“Get the hell away from me!” Draco roared, scrambling back against the headboard.

The woman held her hands up. “Hey. I’m not going to touch you, okay?”

Draco had heard that before. They always tried to lure him in with kind words and false promises, and then struck when he was least expecting it. It always ended in blood and pain, and Draco knew this time would be no different. Fear shoved icy needles beneath his skin. 

“Kid!” the woman yelled. Draco flinched at her harsh tone, but nevertheless looked up. “Look—I couldn’t get in even if I wanted to. See?” She reached out, pressing her hand against some sort of invisible barrier separating the room from the hallway. “There’s a shield charm keeping you in there, but it also keeps everyone else out.” 

Draco sucked in a breath, trying to control his shaking, but it felt like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He closed his eyes. 

They couldn’t get in, but he needed to find a way out before the woman changed her mind about hurting him. She would eventually—Draco had seen it happen enough times. His father, Bellatrix, even Snape had lashed out at him whenever he was too slow, too weak, too stupid, and this woman would be no different. 

Draco forced his eyes open, looking down at his bandaged arms, the stiff mattress under his body that was still infinitely preferable to a stone floor. “Why am I not chained up?”

The woman snorted. “With those wounds on your wrists? We’re not monsters.”

Draco’s face twisted. “I’m not going to stop trying to kill Lupin just because he was stupid enough not to chain me.” 

“We didn’t think you would, but that shield charm is powerful. Good luck escaping.”

Draco clenched his jaw, nausea roiling in the pit of his gut. He was stuck here, and there was no way out. “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

The woman looked horrified. “You’re a  _ kid.”  _

“I’m not a kid.” 

She quirked a brow. “What are you, then?” 

“I’m—”  _ a werewolf, a killer, a disappointment, a monster, _ “—a Malfoy!” 

The woman burst into laughter. “So you popped out of your mum fully grown?” 

“I became a man when I helped the Dark Lord kill Dumbledore,” Draco snarled, his face turning scarlet. “Who are you, anyway? You can’t be much older than me!” 

“I’m Nymphadora Tonks, but if you call me Nymphadora, I will hex you.” She crossed her arms. “And we are  _ not _ the same age. If you were in the muggle world, you’d hardly be old enough to have a driver’s license.”

Tonks—the name rang a bell. Draco’s face shifted into a scowl. “You’re that blood-traitor who’s a stain on our family tree.” 

“If anyone is a stain on our family, Malfoy, it’s you,” Tonks said. 

Draco clenched his hands into fists, but didn’t deny it. His father had told him the same thing every day since he was born. “So what? You’re screwing Lupin, are you?”

Tonks barked out another harsh laugh. “Excuse me?” She snorted. “I’d rather battle a pissed-off dragon with my hands tied behind my back than sleep with Remus.”

“Why? ‘Cause he’s a werewolf?” Draco asked. His heart squeezed. He’d accepted long ago that no one would be able to love him now that he had turned, but to hear someone say it so plainly still hurt. 

Not that he had any sympathy for Lupin—that would be ridiculous. He hated the man almost as much as he hated himself. 

But Tonks managed to dismantle all of Draco’s assumptions in four words. “‘Cause he’s a  _ guy.” _

Draco’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “God, Malfoys are so traditional, it drives me batshit crazy. I’m  _ gay _ , kid.” 

All Draco could say was, “Oh.” 

Tonks cackled at the look on his face, leaning her chair back so that it rested on two legs. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Do not!” 

“Do, too.” 

_ “Do not!”  _

“Are you always this annoying?”

Draco huffed, turning away from the pink-haired woman with a hard glare. When he looked back at her, her eyes were lingering on his chest. In his frustration, he’d let the blanket drop, and now it pooled around his hips, exposing the thick, ropy scars. “Hey kid?” she said. 

“I’m not a kid.”

“Yeah, whatever. If you don’t mind my asking, what… happened? To you? To give you those, I mean.” Tonks looked down, suddenly too shy to meet his eyes. 

Draco scowled, yanking the blanket back up. He tried to convince himself he didn’t care about the woman’s reaction; he was used to his scars making people uncomfortable. “Why the hell do you care, anyway?” he snapped. 

“I—”

“Where the hell is my shirt?” he demanded. 

Tonks rolled her eyes, and the timid look vanished. “It was covered in blood, douchenozzle. We had to throw it out.” 

Draco felt his blood boil underneath his skin. “So, what, you’re just going to leave me in here half-naked? You might be a dyke, but with the way that werewolf acts I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a f—”

In half a second, Tonks had her wand and pointed at Draco’s chest. The relaxed look vanished from her face, leaving only cold, uncompromising fury in its place. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she growled. 

Draco shut up.

So much for not hurting him. He knew promises like that always ran dry. 

“I think you’d better say you’re sorry,” Tonks demanded. 

The fury, the  _ loathing _ on her face… Draco was used to it. Almost everyone looked at him that way. In a sense, it was more comfortable for him to be hated. At least then, no one would have to see how broken he was inside. 

Draco lifted his chin. “And if I don’t?” His eyes dropped to her wand, then flicked back up to meet hers. “What are you going to do about it?”

Tonks’s hand tightened on her wand, but she didn’t use it. 

Tonks leaned forward with a scowl, speaking every word slowly and carefully like he was too stupid to understand her. “Listen carefully, you little shit: you almost killed Sirius, and Remus is still put out that you tried to murder his best friend.”

“I didn’t—”

Tonks cut him off. “I’m just about the  _ only _ person here without a personal vendetta against you. So when I come around offering an olive branch, it would be in your best interest to take it.” She stood, shoving her wand back into her robes with more force than was necessary. “I’ll give you a goddamn shirt when you apologize.” 

Before Draco had a chance to say anything, she walked out. 

***

Tonks returned three hours later. 

“Do you have anything to say to me?” she asked. 

Draco gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

She tossed him a shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Draco is an absolute ASSHOLE in this chapter, don’t come for me. We’re starting to see a pattern of Draco lashing out when he’s vulnerable, which he’s gonna have to learn how to get over. He also might be dealing with some *internalized homophobia.* But hey, Tonks is an absolute icon, so there’s that. 
> 
> It has come to my attention that currently, no one in 12 Grimmauld Place is straight, and I’m honestly here for it. Art imitates life, I guess, and us gays stick together. My entire friend group is LGBT, so this makes sense. Yeah, there’s some homos in this house. 
> 
> Shameless WAP reference aside, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, it was another one that was really fun to write. We’re finally getting to the point where Tonks and Remus are like, “holy shit, traumatized blond baby.” It might take them awhile to warm up to him, though (for reasons stated above). 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I posted this so late in the day! I'm super busy with college apps, so that's happening. Plus I was (pleasantly) distracted by FaceTiming somebody VERY cute. (Me? Flirting? Who knew!) This is also the longest chapter I've posted so far, so I'm hoping the extra length makes up for my tardiness. 
> 
> As always, YOU GUYS ARE THE LITERAL BEST. Almost 1,500 hits? That's crazy. Thank you to everyone who leaves comments and kudos, I love hearing what you guys have to say.
> 
> Anyways, come get y'all juice. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle

Sirius awoke hours later, wincing at the pounding in his head. He sat up, squinting, and looked around. 

He was lying in his own room in his own bed. The sheets had been neatly tucked around his body, and the last embers of a dying fire were still flickering in the hearth. Sirius turned his head. 

Remus was sleeping beside him, still in his robes, one hand fisted around the sheets next to his head. Even in sleep, Remus couldn’t relax—his brow was pinched, his full lips pouting, and his scars looked particularly brutal in the dim light of the fire. From the dark shadows under his eyes, he was exhausted. 

Seeing Remus sleeping beside him… it made something stir in Sirius’s chest, a long-standing desire that had been shoved aside, but not forgotten. Now, though, with the flickering firelight illuminating the planes of Remus’s face, listening to the sound of Remus breathing, it came roaring back to life. 

He leaned over, ghosting his lips over the sharp, angry scar on Remus’s forehead. His friend didn’t stir, and Sirius let him sleep. 

***

As soon as Sirius left his room, he heard Tonks’s voice from down the hall. The pink-haired woman didn’t have the best understanding of the phrase, “inside voice.” 

Sirius followed the sound. Who would she be talking to? Was she yelling at Kreature again? 

He rounded the corner to see Tonks perched on a chair she must’ve dragged up from the kitchen, eating cereal out of the box by the handful. When Sirius caught a glimpse white-blond hair, sharp grey eyes, and a cruel, sullen scowl, his blood boiled as everything came rushing back. 

Draco Malfoy with a wand to Mundungus’s throat. Remus, trying to calm him. The boy lashing out with a cruel attack spell. After that, Sirius remembered nothing but pain. 

A growl burst from Sirius’s throat as he stalked forward. “What the hell is that  _ menace _ doing here—” 

The boy stiffened, and something like terror flashed across his face. 

Tonks leapt to her feet, holding her hands up in front of her face. “Easy, Sirius. Hey, you’re looking pretty good compared to a few hours ago—”

“Are you going to tell me why Draco Malfoy is in my fucking house?” Sirius roared. His eyes narrowed when he saw the white cotton t-shirt hanging off the boy’s thin frame.  _ “Is he wearing my shirt?” _

Tonks winced. “Well, his was all bloody—” 

“Goddammit, Tonks!” 

“It wasn’t my idea!” she blurted. “Remus said to keep him here.”

“Why would Remus keep the kid who tried to kill him?” 

“I’m not a kid,” the sullen boy interjected, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Tonks threw her head back, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Seriously, Malfoy, read the room.” 

The boy’s frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Tonks, can I talk to you in private?” Sirius hissed. Before she had a chance to respond, Sirius grabbed her wrist and dragged her around the corner. 

Tonks threw him off.  _ “What, _ Sirius? If you have an issue with this, take it up with Remus.” 

“We need to interrogate the boy—whatever. It doesn’t mean you have to have a  _ fucking slumber party _ with him.” Sirius turned away, running a hand through his messy hair. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, you and Remus have been passed out for hours now,” Tonks said, hands balling into fists at her sides. “I’m keeping an eye on the kid. You should be thanking me!” 

“Thanking you? For cozying up with a Death Eater?”

Tonks crossed her arms. “He’s a kid, Sirius, and he’s terrified. How would you want someone to treat Harry if they captured him?”

“That’s  _ not _ Harry,” Sirius snapped. “He tried to  _ kill _ Remus.”

“I know. I’m not saying I like the brat.” Tonks sighed, running a hand down her face. “It’s just… do you ever think about how that could’ve been us?”

Sirius blinked. “... what?” 

“Your family was just as bad as his, and I know you had the strength to stand up for what you knew was right. As for me, my parents tried to raise me away from all of that. They taught me to be good.” Tonks crossed her arms, toeing the worn carpet with her socked foot. “But… I don’t know. If my parents had raised me like a Death Eater, wouldn’t I have wound up like Malfoy?” 

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Tonks, we can’t afford to think like that.”

“Why not?” 

“He’s not a wounded puppy, Tonks. He’s a powerful wizard, and he’s dangerous.”

Something flickered across Tonks’s face. “You didn’t see his scars,” she murmured. 

“What scars?”

“He’s  _ covered _ in them.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if he did it to himself, or if someone else did it to him…” 

“It doesn’t matter, Tonks.”

“And why the hell not?” she asked, spine straightening. 

“Because he’s not our problem,” Sirius hissed. “We have enough on our plates between keeping the Order running and trying to fight a war. You want us to—what? Rehabilitate some Death Eater kid?”

“Of course not!” Tonks snapped. “I’m just saying you don’t have to traumatize him more than necessary.” 

Sirius groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what kind of kid he is, but I do! He called Hermione a m—well, you know what he called her.” 

A thoughtful look settled over Tonks’s face. “Yeah, we’re working on his manners.” 

_ “Tonks.”  _

“What?”

“He’s a bully.”

_ “You _ were a bully.”

Sirius’s mouth clicked shut with an audible snap. “Well,” he said after a long moment, “I was never a Death Eater.” 

“Regulus was a Death Eater.”  
  
Sirius’s eyes grew stormy, and lips pulled back from his teeth. “Don’t talk about Regulus,” he snapped. 

Immediately, Tonks backed down. “Sirius, I—”

“We’ll keep the boy until Remus gets the chance to talk to him,” Sirius snapped. “But he is our prisoner, and we will treat him accordingly. Got it?”

Tonks sighed, shoulders sinking. “Got it,” she agreed.

***

Nymphadora Tonks was a flawed person. 

For starters, her name was  _ Nymphadora _ , which she considered a personal failing. She was also brash, impulsive, and stubborn, and she liked to listen to music way too loudly late at night. Her diet existed almost exclusively of sugar—but it really wasn’t her fault that Remus never did any grocery shopping—and she woke up with hangovers more often than she cared to admit. 

But one thing Nymphadora Tonks never questioned about herself was that she was a decent fucking person. 

Maybe that was why she couldn’t look at the boy’s scars without feeling nauseated, or why she had stood up to Sirius over a boy she had been so willing only yesterday to slam into a wall. Because the look on the boy’s face when he learned he was a prisoner… that was pure terror. And when Tonks drew her wand after he called Remus a name, the boy flinched, like he was expecting her to strike him. 

Even if she had been defending her friend, Tonks didn’t feel like such a good person right about then. 

Now Sirius was angry with her. She didn’t see why it was such a crime not to be a dick to a child, but now Sirius was sulking with his nose in one of Remus’s books. Sirius didn’t even  _ like _ reading. 

“Do you want to play wizard’s chess?” Tonks suggested. 

Sirius looked up from his book. “Why don’t you play with the Death Eater, since you like him so much?”

Tonks groaned. “God, you might not like your family, but you certainly have a Black’s ability to hold grudges. I told you, Sirius, I don’t like the kid.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

The door to the sitting room burst open, and Remus barrelled in. “Tonks, have you seen—” His eyes settled on Sirius.  _ “Sirius. _ What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

The corners of Sirius’s lips ticked up into a wry smile. “Morning, Remus.” 

“You should be resting!” Remus demanded.  
  
“Relax, I feel fine. A bit sore, but I’m not dying, thanks to you.”  
  
Remus let out a shaky breath and dropped into a threadbare armchair in front of the hearth. The scars on his face were especially stark against the pale, almost greenish pallor of his skin. “Next time someone decides to hex me, do us both a favor and don’t leap in front of it.” 

“I’m not half as good at healing magic as you are. It was a calculated decision.” Sirius leaned over, catching Remus’s hand in his. Tonks didn’t miss the charged look that passed between them. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Remus’s eyelids fluttered, and when he spoke, he sounded almost breathless. “Of course I was going to help you, stupid.” 

Sirius laughed, but his eyes were soft. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he said. 

Remus turned his face away to hide his blush. 

Yes, Tonks knew about Remus and Sirius—she had known for awhile now—but the two idiots had yet to figure it out. She rolled her eyes. 

“The kid’s awake, Remus,” Tonks said. 

His eyes snapped up. “What?”

“He woke up hours ago. Do you have any idea how long you’ve been asleep?” 

“Is he okay?” Remus asked. 

“He’s fine.” Tonks leaned back in her chair. “He’s frightened, of course, and he’s definitely a brat—but he’s lucid, and he hasn’t been causing too many problems.”

Remus ran a hand down his face. “I should probably go talk to him.”

“Don’t push yourself right now, Remus,” Sirius said. “You need to take it easy.”

Remus shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “I need to check on the kid’s wounds. If the infection flares up again, it’ll only be longer before we can get rid of him.”

Tonks leapt to her feet. “I’m coming with you.” 

“There’s really no need,” Remus said. “I’m sure it won’t take long—”

_ “I’m coming with you,” _ Tonks said again. Her voice left no room for argument. 

Remus looked her up and down, then gave a quick, decisive nod. “So be it.” 

Sirius groaned, then pushed himself lazily to his feet. “I’m coming, too, obviously.” 

“No, you’re going straight to bed,” Remus said sternly. A wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Your body needs time to recover.” 

“I’m not leaving the two of you alone against the Death Eater who almost killed me.”

“He’s sixteen, wandless, and trapped behind a shield charm. What could he possibly do?” 

Sirius shrugged. “You’re not going to change my mind. Shall we get on with it?” 

***

Being held prisoner was incredibly boring. 

Not that Draco was complaining—boredom was better than torture, which he still hadn’t ruled out as a possiblity—but he would’ve killed for a book or something. Tonks had left hours ago, and although Draco certainly didn’t like the woman, talking to her was better than staring at the dying fire and wondering what they were going to do to him. 

So yes, Draco was almost relieved when Tonks turned the corner of the hallway and stopped in front of his open door, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes at himself. Was this what they called Stockholm Syndrome? 

“Hallo, you git,” Tonks said cheerily.

Draco leaned back where he was sitting in the worn, threadbare armchair. “Fuck off,” he said, and secretly hoped that she wouldn’t.

Sure enough, Tonks dropped into the chair that she had dragged outside his door. “I brought company.” 

Draco’s back stiffened. “What?” 

Remus Lupin turned the corner, looking unkempt and exhausted, with what looked like a black medical bag clutched in his fist. Sirius Black—walking about miraculously quickly after Draco’s curse—stuck close to his side, glaring at Draco from beneath lowered brows. 

“What the hell are they doing here?” Draco spat, pressing his body against the back of the armchair. 

“Well, you’re technically  _ their _ prisoner,” Tonks reminded him. 

Draco’s fingers dug into the arms of his chair. “So—what? They’re going to interrogate me? Torture me?” 

The corners of Lupin’s lips turned down. “We’re not here to hurt you, Draco.”

“Like hell you’re not,” he growled. 

“I’m telling the truth.” 

Draco turned his face away. That’s what adults always said, but sooner or later, something shifted. Then came pain and raised voices and breaking glass, because Draco always, always,  _ always _ managed to screw something up.

“Mr. Malfoy, those wounds on your arms are… concerning, to say the least,” Lupin said. 

Everything inside Draco went still and cold. Lupin had seen—Lupin must know. The secret he had tried so long to keep hidden was out, wasn’t it?  
  
But Lupin didn’t mention anything about the curse. “It took quite a few hours and a fair amount of healing magic to stave off the infection. I need to check on the wounds and see how they’re healing.”

“You’re not coming in here!” Draco snapped, scrambling away from the doorway and pressing himself against the wall. 

Black started forward, eyes glinting with something cruel and ugly. “You’re not in charge here, Death Eater—”

“Stop it, Sirius.” Remus grabbed his arm. He looked up at Draco. “Mr. Malfoy, I’m only trying to help.” 

“No!” Darkness and blood and  _ pain _ —

“You’re scaring him, Remus!” 

Draco was finding it hard to breathe. He wrapped his arms around himself and dug his nails into his skin hard enough to leave bruises. 

“What did I say?” 

“The kid freaks out when he thinks someone is gonna go in there with him. He thinks we’re going to hurt him,” Tonks said.   
“But I said I’m not—”

“You know how the Death Eaters treat their prisoners, Remus. Why should he expect us to be any different?”

Black snorted. “Listen to Tonks, she’s the Malfoy whisperer.” 

“Will you shut up, you—”

Draco gritted his teeth. He couldn’t let them see how weak he was, how cowardly—he had to get his fear under control. But no matter how deeply he breathed, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, and soon he was hyperventilating, and his vision was tunneling—

Something flickered across Lupin’s face. “Mr. Malfoy, you need to calm down.”

“Get away from me!” Draco spat. 

Lupin raised his hands in front of his face and took a step back. “Okay. No one is going to come in there without your say-so.” 

Draco wrapped a hand around his throat, forcing in a choked breath. 

“What are you doing, Remus?” Sirius demanded. “He’s our prisoner. He does as we say, not the other way around.” 

Tonks’s face went red. “Can’t you see he’s having a panic attack, you inconsiderate fuck—” 

_ “Everyone shut up!”  _

Draco flinched at Lupin’s raised voice. He knew it wouldn’t last, he knew their anger would get the best of them eventually—

But Lupin only kneeled down in front of the invisible barrier, and when he spoke, his voice was kind. “Draco. Can I call you Draco?” 

Draco’s throat worked. “I don’t care,” he rasped. 

“Alright, then. Nobody will come inside without your permission, but someone really needs to take a look at your wounds.” His warm brown eyes were distant, but not cruel. 

Draco pulled his knees to his chest. “Why do you care whether I die?”

A shadow flashed across Lupin’s face. “This war has already claimed too many lives, Draco.” 

Draco looked away. 

Sirius started forward. “Let me do it, Remus. I don’t want you in there with the kid who wants to kill you.” 

“No!” Draco snarled, rearing away. 

“Why the hell do you think you get a choice—”

“Sirius, you’re not helping,” Lupin hissed. He turned back to Draco. “May I come in? I’ll leave as soon as your wounds are clean.”

Draco shook his head. Sirius Black scared him, but Lupin was worse. He was the sort of person who pretended to be kind and gentle, who hid his real nature behind a thin veneer. Draco had dealt with people like him before—people who made him trust them, and when they lashed out, it hurt that much worse. Sirius Black wanted to kill him, but at least he didn’t hide his true intentions. 

Tonks chuckled. “You two might’ve missed it while you were passed out, but I’ve been talking to him. The git stubborn as hell, and if he doesn't want to let you in, he won’t.” 

All eyes turned to Tonks.  
  
The pink-haired woman froze. “... what?” 

Slowly, Lupin looked to Draco. “Would you be alright with it if Tonks came inside?” 

“Oh, hell no.” Tonks shook her head. “Remus, you know I’m crap with healing magic, I’ll probably just end up splinching him or something—”

“Draco.” Lupin cut her off. “If the infection comes back, you’re going to be in bad shape, and you’re not going to have a choice about who patches you back up. Please, let Tonks come inside.” 

Draco’s eyes flicked up to meet the pink-haired woman’s. She looked just as freaked out as Draco did, which was strangely comforting. Tonks was blunt to the point of rudeness and he could tell she didn’t like him, but at least he knew where she stood, and she wasn’t as blatantly malicious as Sirius. 

“If I say yes, will the rest of you leave me the fuck alone?” Draco growled. 

“Yes,” said Lupin. 

“No,” said Sirius. 

Lupin let out a breath. “We will give you personal space and privacy within reason.”

Draco looked up at Tonks, who was watching him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “Fine.”

Lupin sagged with what looked like relief. “Tonks, are you in?” 

The pink-haired woman stormed forward, arms crossed over her chest, and rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’m in.” 

Lupin stood. “Give me your arm.” 

Tonks grabbed the werewolf’s forearm in what looked like the strangest handshake Draco had ever seen. White light streamed out, bright enough that Draco had to turn his face away; it blinked out a second later. 

Lupin shook out his hand like had just touched something hot. “Alright, Tonks, I keyed you in. You should be able to make it past the barrier spell now.” 

Tonks snatched the medical bag away from Lupin and glared at Draco through the barrier. “Seriously, shithead, you picked the worst possible person to do this.”

Draco glared right back. 

“Fine, whatever.” She rolled her shoulders and approached the barrier, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Let’s just get this over with.” She stepped through. 

Draco half expected her to go flying backwards once she hit the invisible wall, or for the air to warp and twist around her when she stepped across the barrier. But there was nothing: no flash of light, no rippling colors. One moment she was there, and the next she was here, and now there was nothing separating Draco from the woman who almost certainly wanted to hurt him. 

Tonks dropped to the floor in front of Draco, crossing her legs. “Right, Remus, what do I do?” she called out. 

“You need to change the bandages. Take off the old ones first.”

She looked at Draco expectantly, but he didn’t move. “Well?” she demanded. 

His eyes flickered to the open doorway. “They’re still watching,” he hissed. He wouldn’t give Lupin another chance to examine his wounds and discover what he really was—not if he could help it. 

Tonks groaned. “You’re a dramatic little fucker, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want them watching.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Remus, Sirius, turn around!” 

They did as they were told—although Sirius protested slightly, of course—and Tonks turned back to Draco. “Are you ready now, Your Highness?” 

Draco’s eyes dropped. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, careful not to jostle the cuts on his wrists, then rolled them up slowly, revealing the white bandages underneath. A few had soaked through with rust-colored blood. 

The ire in Tonks’s expression flickered, then faded. She reached out, but stopped just before touching his arms. “Can I…” 

“Just get on with it!” Draco snapped. 

“You’re a shithead, you know?” Tonks said, but the annoyance had faded from her tone. Her hands were gentle when they unwound the linen from around his forearms, revealing the deep gashes that were gouged into his skin. “How did you get these?” she asked. 

Draco winced—the dried blood cemented the bandages to his wounds, and every tug made the pain flare. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It sort of does, actually.”

Draco turned his face away. 

Tonks sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Remus, what do I do next?” 

“There should be a blue stoppered vial in my bag,” Lupin called over his shoulder. “Put it on the cuts.”

Tonks wiped off her bloody hands with a rag and started to dig through the medical bag. “Don’t we have any Essence of Dittany?” 

“Essence of Dittany will heal the wounds, but it won’t do much for infection.”

Tonks emerged with the vial and removed the stopper. “How much do I need to use?” 

“As much as you need to coat the wounds.”

She poured some of the bluish, glowing liquid on the bloody rag in her other hand. Gently, like she was trying hard not to hurt him, Tonks wiped at one of the gashes on his wrist. 

Draco lurched away. “Merlin’s beard, that stings!” 

“Sorry, sorry!” Tonks chirped. 

“It has to be done, Draco,” Lupin said gently. 

“You could’ve at least warned me!” Draco growled. 

“Would you have let Tonks near you if you knew it would hurt?” Lupin asked. 

Draco scowled and said nothing. 

“Alright, hold out your arm again,” Tonks said. 

“It hurts like a mother—”

Tonks crossed her arms. “Are you going to keep being a baby, or are you going to man up?”

Draco felt the most ridiculous, juvenile urge to stick out his tongue. Instead, he held out his arm and sulked. 

By the time Tonks wrapped up his arm and left, she had kept her promise: she hadn’t hurt him. 

Well. Draco rubbed his sore arms protectively. Not on purpose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonks said “baby.” This girl is quickly becoming my favorite character as she goes into full big sister mode and honestly, good for her. 
> 
> Anyways, have a great rest of your day! See you guys on Thursday. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, and happy Thursday!
> 
> Before I say anything else, let me scream into the void, because HOLY SHIT, 2,000 HITS? I just want to say how grateful I am to all of you. It makes me so happy that you guys are reading and enjoying this story. 
> 
> Okay, so this chapter was incredibly friggin painful to write. I hope y'all enjoy angst because GIRL, there's a lot of it here. Anyways, enjoy this chapter, and try not to cry as much as I did. 
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle

Sirius closed his eyes as he pushed open the heavy oak door. It had been so long since he had come here. Too long, maybe, but Sirius still didn’t know what he felt, and he wasn’t ready to face any of it head-on. 

Not until the boy came, that was. Tonks was right—he was a little bit like Regulus. Two boys born into evil families, both so eager to please those who had raised them that they turned against everything pure and good. 

Maybe that’s why Sirius hated Malfoy so much. Because he saw Regulus in the boy’s eyes, and he hated his brother almost as much as he loved him. 

With a deep breath, Sirius stepped into Regulus’s room. 

The walls were draped in green and silver. The bed was meticulously made—everything about Regulus had been careful, the opposite of Sirius—and yellowed newspaper clippings hung from the walls. It smelled like dust and decay. 

There was a picture on the wall next to his bed. Regulus was wearing green quidditch robes, and the lightness on his face… it reminded Sirius of a simpler time, before everything had fallen apart. Before he could brace himself, he was thrust into the memory. 

***

_ “You’re back!”  _

_ Sirius laughed as his younger brother slammed into him, wrapping his arms around Sirius’s waist. “Hallo, you goof,” he said, rustling Regulus’s hair.  _

_ Regulus looked up with a gap-toothed grin. To Sirius’s relief, there were no scars on his face, no bruises. His parents didn’t hurt Regulus, not the way they hurt Sirius.  _

_ He felt something tighten in his chest. He was glad his brother was safe—but if it was only Sirius they knocked around, did that mean it was his fault?  _

_ Regulus’s fingers fisted in Sirius’s robes. “You don’t have to go back for a while, do you? I’ve missed you. I’ve been practicing at wizard’s chess, I’m sure I can beat you!” _

_ Sirius laughed. “You’ve been able to beat me at wizard’s chess since you were six.” _

_ “Yeah, but I’m even better now!” Regulus’s grin widened. He grabbed Sirius’s hand and started dragging him into the sitting room. “Come on, come on, come on. You have to tell me about Hogwarts!”  _

_ Sirius cast a glance over his shoulder. His mother was glaring at him, a scowl fixed over her face.  _ Behave yourself, _ she mouthed.  _

_ Sirius swallowed.  _

_ Regulus closed the door behind them and dragged Sirius over to the couch. Sirius sat down with a heavy thud. He hadn’t wanted to come back for summer—the looks his parents gave him made his blood turn to ice in his veins—but he hadn’t exactly had a choice.  _

_ Regulus’s brows pinched. He looked almost… scared.  _

_ “What’s wrong, Reg?” Sirius asked.  _

_ “It’s just… when we got the letter that you were sorted into Gryffindor, Mum and Dad were  _ furious _. I’ve never seen them so angry.” The corners of Regulus’s lips twisted into a frown. “Why were they so mad, Sirius? I don’t want them to ever be that mad at me.”  _

_ Sirius’s stomach flipped. “It’s… complicated.” _

_ Regulus straightened up to his full height—which, admittedly, wasn’t very tall. “I’m old enough to understand. I’m almost ten!”  _

_ Sirius chuckled, even as his heart pounded. “You’re only eight, Reg.”  _

_ “Eight and three-quarters!”  _

_ The smile faded from Sirius’s face, and he let out a deep breath. “Mum and Dad… they have ideas about the way things  _ should _ be. You know that. Me being a Gryffindor doesn’t fit in with their image of me.” _

_ Regulus frowned. “Well, I’m definitely not going to be a Gryffindor, then. Not if it makes them unhappy.”  _

_ Sirius grabbed his brother’s hands and squeezed. “Regulus, it’s your life to live, not theirs. Don’t let them control you. Please. Or you’ll—” He didn’t let himself finish.  _

_ Regulus cocked his head to the side. “Or I’ll what?”  _

Or you’ll turn into a monster,  _ Sirius wanted to say. Instead, he forced a smile. “Or you might regret it, that’s all.”  _

_ “Don’t be silly, Sirius. Whatever Mum and Dad want for me, I’m sure that’s best!”  _

_ Sirius’s smile slipped. Regulus was so… soft. So innocent. So convinced that the world would never hurt him.  _

_ Maybe it was Sirius’s fault. He’d shielded Regulus, after all. When Regulus knocked over Mother’s vase, Sirius said he’d done it. When the last cookie went missing from the kitchen, Sirius took the blame.  _

_ But Sirius just couldn’t bear to see his brother hurt.  _

_ “Come on,” Sirius said. “Let’s go play wizard’s chess.”  _

_ *** _

_ “Hey, Reg, wait up!”  _

_ Regulus stopped in place. Sirius didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched, like he was trying to stop himself from wringing his hands together.  _

_ Sirius slowed from his easy jog, resting a hand on Regulus’s shoulder. His little brother was decked out in Slytherin green and silver, but on Regulus, the colors didn’t bother Sirius. Regulus wasn’t like the others.  _

_ “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” Sirius said. “Do you want to hang out this weekend? We can play wizard’s chess…” _

_ Regulus was already shaking his head. He wouldn’t meet Sirius’s eyes. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he whispered.  _

_ “Okay, what time works for you, then? I’m hanging out with James and Remus later today but I can cancel—” _

_ “I don’t think we should hang out anymore,” Regulus blurted.  _

_ Sirius pulled his hand back like he had been burned. “I’m sorry—what?” _

_ Regulus squeezed his eyes shut. “Mum and Dad—they don’t like me seeing you. Not since you moved in with James. They even burned your face out of the tapestry, did you know that?”  _

_ Sirius’s heart was thundering wildly. His mother and father disowning him, he could take, but Regulus? That was too much for him.  _

_ “You’ve been avoiding me,” he said as it dawned on him.  _

_ Regulus looked down.  _

_ “But we’re brothers,” Sirius murmured numbly.  _

_ “Not anymore. You ran away, Sirius.” _

_ Sirius shook his head. “I didn’t! I mean—I ran from them, but not from you. Never from you.”  _

_ Regulus whirled on him, and to Sirius’s shock, there were tears in his eyes. “Are you stupid, or do you just not care?” _

_ “Regulus—” _

_ “You left me, too, Sirius.” Regulus’s throat worked. “You like James and Remus and Peter better than me, and that’s why you left. Don’t deny it.”  _

_ “You don’t know anything!” Sirius snapped. “They used to hit me. They’d beat me until I was fucking black and blue, slam my head into the wall until I bled. And I used to take it so that you wouldn’t have to. But then I realized that they’d never hurt you like that—you’re a better son, a better heir. You’re only angry because you don’t look so perfect without your fuckup brother to take the blame!”  _

_ Regulus flinched like Sirius had slapped him, and immediately, Sirius knew he had gone too far. “Regulus, I’m—”  _

_ “Stop,” Regulus said. His voice was deadly cold. “Don’t talk to me, don’t come near me. I don’t want to see you ever again. Do you understand?” _

_ “Don’t do this.” _

_ “I’m sorry.” Regulus was already walking away.  _

_ *** _

_ Regulus looked awful. His dark hair was lank and greasy where it fell to his shoulders, and the dark shadows under his eyes bloomed purple. His skin was so pale it was almost transparent.  _

_ Sirius almost didn’t recognize him.  _

_ “What are you doing, Regulus?” Sirius murmured.  _

_ “What is asked of me. Unlike you, I know the meaning of loyalty.”  _

_ “Loyalty.” Sirius scoffed.  _

_ Regulus whirled on him. “And you? What have you done? You’ve brought shame on our family time and again!”  _

_ “I’ve never killed anybody,” Sirius growled. “Have you?”  _

_ Regulus went quiet.  _

_ “Do you understand who these people are? Do you understand what they’re doing?” Sirius’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “They’re  _ killers _ , Reg. I know you, I know that you’re better than this—”  _

_ “No, I’m not!” Regulus exploded. “Have you ever considered that I’m just like them? Have you ever once thought that maybe  _ I don’t need your help?”

_ “I’m trying to protect you!”  _

_ “I’m sick of you protecting me!” Regulus swiped his arm across the table. Papers scattered across the floor, and glass shattered upon impact. Sirius jumped back, but Regulus didn’t even react. “I can take care of my fucking self!”  _

_ “You’re seventeen, Regulus. You don’t have to do this alone—” _

_ “I’m not alone. I have Mum and Dad, and they love me better than they ever did you!” Regulus snarled.  _

_ Sirius was stunned into silence. Who was this person? The Regulus he had known had been kind, sweet,  _ innocent… __

_ When Regulus spoke again, his voice was ragged. “Just leave me, Sirius. I’ve made my choice, and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”  _

_ Sirius reached out, as if he meant to touch his brother—but Regulus flinched away before he got the chance.  _

_ Sirius’s heart stopped beating. “Regulus.”  _

_ Regulus said nothing.  _

_ Sirius’s voice was a cracked, broken whisper. “Have they been hurting you?”  _

_ His brother turned towards the door. “I think you should go.” _

_ *** _

_ Sirius’s mother hadn’t spoken to him in four years.  _

_ Four years of complete silence, and now this—an owl, with a simple roll of parchment attached to its leg.  _

_ Sirius’s heart thundered as he extracted the message. He knew in his gut that if his mother was writing to him, something had gone horribly wrong. With shaking hands, he opened the letter.  _

_ There were only four words on the paper. Four words that shook Sirius’s entire world.  _

Your brother is dead. 

_ His knees gave out.  _

***

Sirius reached out with shaking hands and plucked the picture off the wall. And for the first time in a long time, Sirius broke. 

His sobs echoed in the empty room, tears landing on the moving picture of Regulus’s smiling face. He clutched the photo to his chest. This room, this picture… it was all he had left of his brother. 

The memories in his mind were at war with each other. Regulus, a year and a half old, saying Sirius’s name for the first time. Regulus at seventeen, throwing a bottle at his brother’s head. Regulus at age five, shrieking with delight as Sirius tickled him. Fourteen-year-old Regulus deciding he didn’t want to be associated with his older brother anymore. 

How could he hate someone so much and still love him so deeply it hurt? 

***

By the time Sirius left his brother’s room, he had managed to pull himself together—mostly. His heart still felt raw, but he had wiped away his tears, and now his grief had faded to anger. 

Anger at his parents, for driving them apart. 

Anger at Voldemort, for corrupting his younger brother into something unrecognizable. 

Anger at Regulus, for dying at eighteen and leaving him all alone. 

Luckily for Sirius, he knew exactly who to take his anger out on. But he didn’t expect to find Draco Malfoy  _ sleeping _ . 

The boy looked younger in sleep. It… softened him, made the sharp planes of his face relax into something sweeter. His shirt—which was really Sirius’s shirt—was carefully folded and left on the end of the bed. 

Tonks was right—Sirius really didn’t understand the extent of the boy’s scars until this moment. He was absolutely  _ covered _ in them: scars on his wrists, his chest, for God’s sake, his  _ throat _ . The yellowed bruises covering his torso were only a few days old, like he’d only stopped receiving them when he was taken prisoner. 

And for maybe the first time, Sirius saw him for what he was—a boy. A  _ child _ . Younger than Regulus had been when he died too young. 

Suddenly, staring at Malfoy, all Sirius could see was his brother. 

Sirius shook himself. He couldn’t afford to get sentimental, not now—the boy would wake up soon, and Sirius had questions for him.

He hardened his heart and settled in to wait. 

***

Draco startled awake, clutching at his throat. His breaths came in startled, panting gasps, and his skin was slick with sweat. His heart was thundering much too fast. 

He’d been dreaming again. 

Draco closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. It wasn’t real—he was safe. 

It hit him a moment later: no, he wasn’t safe. He was in 12 Grimmauld place, being held captive by the man he had tried to kill. 

“Finally, you’re awake.” 

Draco sat bot-upright and whirled towards the door. Sirius black was sitting in Tonks’s usual chair, looking even more put out than usual with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jesus Christ, how long have you been sitting there?” 

“Why does it matter to you how I spend my time?” Sirius growled. 

“Because watching me sleep is fucking creepy as hell, that’s why.”

Sirius smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself, kid. I have questions for you, that’s all—and it’s about time somebody interrogated you.” 

Draco stiffened.  _ Interrogation _ —the brought to mind images of blood and pain and fear. “What do you want to know?” he asked slowly. 

“Why did you try killing Remus?” Sirius asked. His hands twitched, curling into fists. 

Draco swallowed. “The Dark Lord told me to.”

“That’s it?” Sirius’s lips twisted into a snarl. “You’re his lapdog, eh? You do whatever the fuck he tells you?” 

Draco turned his face away. 

“Will somebody else come after us?” Sirius said. 

“I don’t know.”

Sirius slammed his fist into the invisible border separating him from Draco. “Don’t fucking lie to me!”  
  
Draco flinched, his breath turning ragged. _Breathe_ , he told himself. _He can’t get to you._ “I’m not lying,” he said, his voice quavering. “I don’t know the Dark Lord’s plans. I only know what my father told me.” 

Sirius pulled away from the border. Something almost like regret flickered across his face when he saw Draco’s reaction, but it was gone as soon as it had come. “What exactly did your father tell you?” Sirius asked. 

“He told me that Remus Lupin is the new leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and that he needs to die.”

Sirius’s frown deepened. “How many people did you tell about our location?”

Draco shuddered. He could lie, say that a hoard of Death Eaters was storming Grimmauld Place as they spoke—but how long would it be before Sirius learned it was a lie? That no one was coming for him? And if Sirius knew he had lied, there was no doubt in Draco’s mind that the man would hurt him. 

“Nobody,” Draco whispered. “I told nobody.” 

Sirius blinked. “Either you’re lying, or you’re stupider than you look.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “I’m not lying. Are you going to kill me now?” 

“I’m not going to kill you, you little shit.” 

“Then what are you going to do to me?” Draco snapped. “Beat me? Torture me? Keep me locked away forever?” 

Sirius stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Remus is going to wipe your memory. Then we’re going to drop you on your father’s doorstep, and you won’t be our problem anymore.” 

The breath left Draco all at once. It was the worst thing Sirius could’ve said, the worst fate Draco could’ve imagined. “You’re going to… what?” 

“We’re going to return you to your family. You’re welcome.” Sirius’s face darkened. “It’s more kindness than you would’ve shown to any of us.” 

Draco started shaking his head, slow, and then faster as his heart rate picked up. “No. You can’t do that.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

“I failed, don’t you get it?” Draco curled into a ball, trying desperately to suck breath into his lungs. “I failed, and now… now…” 

“Now what?” 

“He’s going to kill me,” Draco gasped. He threaded his hands through his hair and rocked back and forth on the thin, worn mattress. “God, he’s gonna fucking kill me!”

“Who’s going to kill you?” Sirius demanded. “The Dark Lord?” 

Draco met Sirius’s gaze with wide, haunted eyes. “My father.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter was emotionally scarring to write. Hope it hurts you as much as it hurt me, because some tears were shed on my end. Every time I write a flashback for this fic, I get emotional. Hopefully this sheds light on some of Sirius’s thoughts and actions, because he might take awhile to warm up to Draco, but he has a good reason. 
> 
> Seriously, though, the angst is real. Regulus Black deserved better, but I digress. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I always love hearing what you guys think in the comments. 
> 
> Happy (almost) Halloween! 
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: panic attacks, referenced child abuse 
> 
> Hey everyone! I hope you had a good weekend. 
> 
> I’m super excited for this chapter. It was super fun to write, so I’m really hoping you guys enjoy it. Be forewarned, there is a LOT of swearing—idk, whenever Tonks and Draco are together they just go batshit. 
> 
> I got a request to make the chapters longer, so I tried! This one's a bit longer than the others, hope it doesn't disappoint!
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle

Sirius’s voice rang out through the near silent house. “God fucking dammit. Remus!” 

Remus looked up from the book he was reading with a sigh. What the hell had Sirius gotten himself into now? 

“Really, Remus, you need to get your ass over here  _ now!”  _

Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m on my way.” 

Remus expected to find Sirius in some sort of predicament—Sirius seemed to be a magnet for trouble. But seeing his friend standing outside Draco Malfoy’s doorway, running agitated hands through his long, dark hair, was the last thing Remus expected. “What’s going on, Sirius?” Remus asked. 

“See for yourself.” Sirius gestured to the open door. 

The room beyond was dark, the bedsheets twisted like the boy had been having a nightmare. In the middle of it all, shoulders shaking with his knees curled to his chest, was Draco Malfoy. The boy’s thin chest was heaving, fingers digging into his scalp as he rocked slowly back and forth. 

Remus’s limbs locked up. He’d seen the signs so many times, lived through them enough to know what was happening—the boy was having a panic attack. “What the hell did you do, Sirius?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sirius looked away, gritting his teeth. “I mean, I was interrogating him—”

“Interrogating him? Sirius, he’s a kid, and he’s terrified!” 

“Whatever, it wasn’t my questions that drove the kid over the edge. He lost it when I mentioned his father.” 

Remus met Sirius’s eyes, and something unspoken passed between them. A child breaking down at the mention of his father? It wasn’t a good sign. And those bruises… 

Sirius’s throat worked. “You need to calm him down,” he said. 

“Where’s Tonks?” Remus asked. The young woman was the only person among them who Draco viewed with anything other than fear and derision. 

Sirius shook his head. “She’s not here.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?” Remus hissed. 

“She’s always complaining about how there’s no food in the house, so I told her to go fucking get some!” Sirius turned so that his back was facing Remus, burying his head in his hands. “I didn’t know the kid was going to have a meltdown while she was gone!”

Remus closed his eyes, letting out a long, slow breath through his nose. “Leave, Sirius.”

“But—”

“I don’t blame you for this,” Remus said quietly, “but the boy is afraid of you, maybe even more than me, and he has a problem with vulnerability. I’m going to go in there and calm him down, and you’re going to stay out of the way.”

Sirius looked like he wanted to say something more, but he shut his mouth at the last second. “Let me know if you need anything,” he muttered. 

Remus only nodded. 

When Sirius’s footsteps had disappeared around the corner, Remus approached the barrier to Draco’s room. “Draco?” he murmured quietly. 

The boy flinched, but didn’t look up. 

“Draco, I’m coming in.”

That got his attention. Draco’s head snapped up, grey eyes wide and glazed with panic. He scrambled backwards across the bed. “Stay where you are!” he demanded. 

“Listen to me,” Remus said, resting one hand against the invisible border that separated them. “I need you to calm down.” 

Draco shook his head, fisting his hands around tufts of pale blond hair. “No, no, no, please don’t. Just leave. Please…” 

“I’m not going to leave you,” Remus said. “Not while you’re like this.”

“Leave, goddammit!” Draco roared. He hunched over on the bed, almost like he was protecting himself from a blow—but that posture couldn’t be good for his air flow, and unless he loosened up, he wouldn’t be able to breathe. 

With a muttered curse, Remus took out his wand and pressed the tip into the invisible barrier. It opened up just long enough for him to slip through. 

Draco looked up, and the look in his eyes when he saw Remus standing there… it was terror, utter and complete. He scrambled away on shaking legs, clutching at his throat.

Remus held out a hand. “Draco, you need to breathe. You’re hyperventilating.”

The boy shook his head, his movements jerky and crazed. He backed up until he was pressed up against the corner and crouched there, curling into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible. 

And damn, if the sight of it didn’t crack something in Remus’s chest. 

Remus had become a teacher so that he could help the children who needed him—so that nobody would experience the rejection and humiliation he had, or the pain and fear that hung like a dark cloud over Sirius’s head. He saw what it did to his friend, going back to that house every summer. He saw how Sirius’s eyes dulled and his hands shook, and it killed Remus to have to let him go. 

He remembered the bad nights, when Sirius woke before the sun was up. He never talked about it, but Remus could see the ghost of the nightmares behind his wide, frightened eyes. They used to sit together by the fire, telling stories and eating chocolate, and Remus told himself that maybe—just maybe—he made it hurt a little less. 

And when everything fell apart, when James was dead and Sirius was gone and Remus was all alone, still he fought for them: for the memory of four boys hiding from the monsters in the closet and the shadows in their eyes. So when he saw a student who seemed scared, he pulled them aside. He told them a story. And he gave them some chocolate. 

But Draco Malfoy wasn't just scared. He was terrified. 

He was terrified of  _ Remus _ . 

And that hurt worse than Remus cared to admit. 

Remus held out both hands, like he was trying to calm a cornered animal. “Draco, there’s no reason to be afraid. I just need you to calm down.”

Draco’s voice was a broken whisper. “Stay back. Please.” 

Remus stopped in place. 

When Draco looked up to meet Remus’s eyes, he was shaking so hard his teeth rattled. “I’m sorry. I won’t make a fuss again. You can leave now but d-don’t hurt me—”

Remus’s breath caught. 

He had seen horrible things in his thirty-eight years, things he still saw whenever he closed his eyes. But a sixteen-year-old boy covered in scars, begging for Remus not to hurt him… that might’ve been the worst thing of all. 

Remus turned his face away, blinking back tears. “I’m not going to hurt you, Draco,” he whispered. “I promise you that.”

Draco shuddered, but said nothing. 

Remus sat down in the middle of the floor, far enough away from the boy that he wouldn’t scare him. Some of the tension bled from Draco’s shoulders when he saw that Remus wasn’t coming any closer, but his breath was still coming in panting, choking gasps. “Draco, when I breathe, you breathe. Do you understand me?”

Draco shook his head, burying his face in his knees. “Please, just go.”

“You need to breathe, Draco.”

“I don’t need your help,” Draco snapped, but there was no real bite to the words. Wheezing as he was, he could hardly even force them out. “I’m not weak.” 

“It’s not weak to need help sometimes,” Remus said gently. “I’m not going to leave until you breathe.” 

Draco lifted his head up long enough to glare at Remus. 

“Four seconds in, seven seconds out, Draco. Come on, you try it.” Remus started to take in large, exaggerated breaths, keeping time in his head so that he didn’t lose track. Draco looked reluctant, but he nevertheless mirrored the movement. “That’s good, just like that.” 

It took longer than Remus expected—that panic attack was no joke—but after long minutes, Draco was breathing normally without his help. He was still shaking, but at least he wasn’t at risk of passing out anymore. 

“Now,” Remus said, forcing his voice to remain level. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Draco hugged his knees tighter. “I’d rather not.”

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t keep it from happening again,” Remus said gently. 

Draco’s eyes flickered up to meet Remus’s, and he could tell that underneath the rage the boy wore like armor, he was so, painfully scared. How hadn’t Remus noticed it before? “Y-you can’t give me back to my father,” Draco whispered.

“Why not?” Remus had his suspicions, but he wanted to hear Draco say it. 

The boy shook his head. “I failed.”

“Draco.” Remus spoke slowly and carefully, keeping his tone low. He had no idea at this point what would trigger the boy. “What’s going to happen if you see your father again?”

Draco’s breath hitched. “Don’t ask me that.” 

“What is he going to do to you?”

“Stop asking!” the boy shouted, covering his ears with his hands. “Stop it, stop it, stop it—”

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry.” Remus raised his hands in front of his face. “Just calm down, Draco. Breathe.” 

Shudders were coursing through the boy’s body, but he managed to pull himself together before he spiraled out of control again. 

“Draco, I need you to answer one question. After that, I won’t pry anymore.” Remus let out a slow, shaking breath. “If I return you to your family, will you be in danger?”

The boy’s silence was all the answer Remus needed. 

Remus ran a trembling hand down his face. “Okay,” he sighed. “Okay.” 

“What are you going to do with me?” Draco asked. His voice was uncharacteristically small. 

“I don’t know,” Remus said. “I’ll have to talk it over with Sirius and Tonks first.”

Draco’s face fell. The boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I understand.”

Christ, the boy still thought he was considering sending him back to a family who hurt him. Not that it should’ve come as a surprise—it was starting to become apparent that Draco wasn’t used to being treated with decency—but it still didn’t sit right with Remus. “You don't have to go back to your father, Draco,” he said. “Not if you don’t want to.” 

The boy’s head jerked up. “I thought you said—”

“I don’t know exactly what we’ll do next, but we’re not returning you to a situation where you won’t be safe.”

Draco’s throat bobbed. “Why not?” he asked. 

“What?” 

“Why wouldn’t you hand me over?” His eyes met Remus’s. “I tried to kill you.” 

It was sad, Remus thought, that the boy didn’t understand something as simple as mercy. He held the boy’s gaze. “I don’t want more blood on my hands, Draco. Do you?”

The boy looked down at his hands. “I’ve never had a choice.”

***

When Remus made his way into the sitting room, Tonks and Sirius were already there. The pink-haired woman was pacing by the fire, clenching and unclenching her fingers at her sides, where Sirius was slumped in his favorite armchair, clutching a glass of whiskey in his hand. 

Tonks’s gaze shot up when Remus entered, and she strode toward him, looking about as intimidating as all five-foot-three-inches of her would allow. “What. The. Hell. Happened? I’m gone for two seconds and everything goes to shit!” 

“It’s taken care of,” Remus said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Is the kid alright?” Tonks demanded. 

“He’s fine. He had a panic attack, but I managed to calm him down.” Remus dropped into a chair by the fire. 

Tonks ran an agitated hand through her bubblegum-pink hair. “What set him off?” 

“Sirius mentioned handing him over to his father.” Remus met his friend’s eyes. “From my conversation with Draco, it seems that Lucius Malfoy gave him at least some of his bruises.” 

Remus watched Sirius carefully as he delivered the information. If anyone could understand being hurt by the people who were supposed to love you, it was Sirius—but his friend’s face remained carefully blank. Almost  _ too _ blank, like he was trying to hide what he was really feeling. 

“I didn’t manage to get all the answers,” Remus continued. “The boy obviously doesn’t trust me. I had to drag the answers about his father out of him, and it doesn’t explain some of his more obvious scars—but it’s a start.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “One look at the kid, and you can tell he’s been through hell.” 

Tonks sank onto the overstuffed sofa with a sigh. “Well. That certainly explains a lot. Like why he’s such an insufferable brat all the time.” 

“I promised him we wouldn’t return him to his father,” Remus said. 

If he expected either of his friends to object, he didn’t know them very well. Tonks murmured something in affirmation, while Sirius only nodded—but they were both in agreement, and that was the important part. Remus should’ve known that neither of them would subject a child to living with someone who hurt him. 

Remus shook his head. “But of course, that begs the question: what on earth do we do with him?”

“If we let him loose without wiping his memory, he’ll know exactly where to find us, and we have no guarantee that he wouldn’t betray us for a pardon,” Tonks reasoned. “But if we  _ do _ wipe his memory, he might not know not to return to his father.”

“Well, we can’t just  _ keep _ him,” Sirius growled. 

“But we can’t send him back, either.”

Two sets of eyes landed on Remus. 

Remus closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the back of his chair. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. 

Tonks screwed up her face. “If there’s one consolation, it’s that we don’t have to decide right now.”

“What would you suggest?” Sirius asked. 

“The kid’s hurt—not to mention skinny as a twig. We help get him back on his feet, and we think about what to do with him.” Tonks shrugged. “It would be cruel not to help him.”

Sirius’s lips twisted into a frown. 

“Oh, spit it out,” Tonks snapped. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” 

“Knowing you, you’re going to get attached to the kid,” Sirius said. 

Tonks snorted. “Are you serious? He’s a pain.” 

“For now, at least, he’s  _ our _ pain.” Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Tonks is right. We can’t let the kid suffer. We’ll decide what to do with him when he’s not dead on his feet.” 

He half expected Sirius to fight him, but his friend only nodded. 

Tonks stood. “I’m going to go check on the brat. Maybe bring him some real food, now that we have it in the house.” 

“Treat him gently!” Remus called after her. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it,” Tonks said, waving a hand through the air. She disappeared into the kitchen, and the door slammed shut behind her. 

Remus let out a long, slow breath. He had enough on his plate without a broody, traumatized teenager living in their spare room. 

“I’m sorry,” Sirius murmured. “I didn’t mean to frighten him. I wasn’t thinking…”

Remus shook his head. “You couldn’t have known how he would react.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should’ve known,” Sirius said, closing his eyes. “The signs were there, weren’t they? If anyone could recognize them, it’s me.” 

Remus bit his lip. “How bad do you think it is?” 

“I can’t know for sure, but you’re right about his scars. They’re  _ everywhere.” _ Sirius hissed out a breath through his teeth. “And he kept rambling, saying that he thought his father was going to kill him…” 

Remus’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. “Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you…” Remus cleared his throat. “Are you alright? You seem…” 

Sirius seemed to deflate, and when he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m not entirely sure.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

Sirius reached into his pocket, pulling out what looked to be an old, yellowed photograph. For several seconds, he only stared at it. A moment later, his eyes fluttered closed. “The boy has his eyes,” Sirius murmured. 

“Whose?” 

Without a word, Sirius reached out, handing him the photograph. 

Remus’s breath caught.  _ Of course _ . Regulus Black, was staring back at him, smiling broadly at the camera, wide grey eyes squinting against the sunlight. Sirius was right—they did have the same eyes, some leftover family resemblance inherited from their distant relatives. Suddenly, everything made sense. 

“It’s been so long—I know it has—but I never really healed from losing him. I never got the chance.” A shudder coursed through Sirius’s body. “When I was in Az… well, when I was  _ there, _ the dementors made me live through it all, over and over and over again. And I keep thinking, what did I do wrong? How could I have saved him? What could I have done differently?” 

“Sirius, there’s nothing you could’ve done,” Remus said gently. 

Sirius turned his face away. 

Remus stood and walked over to the overstuffed couch, then patted the space next to him. “Come here.” 

Sirius’s shoulders were slumped as he made his way to Remus’s side. He sank onto the sofa, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet Remus’s gaze. 

And  _ oh. _ Remus had known his friend wasn’t okay—after so many years in Azkaban, who would be?—but he hadn’t seen the extent of the lifelessness, the emptiness, in Sirius’s eyes until now. How could he have missed it? The bags under his eyes were so dark. Had he been sleeping? 

He took Sirius’s face in his hands—gently, so that he wouldn’t startle him. Locks of soft, dark hair fell in Sirius’s eyes, but Remus brushed them away. “Hey,” he said. “It’s not your fault. None of it is.” 

“I wasn’t there for him,” Sirius choked. 

“They were killing you in that house,” Remus said. “You did as much as you could for him.” 

Sirius looked up, and Remus was shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes. “I wasn’t there for you,” he whispered. 

Remus’s heart guttered. “What?” 

“Twelve years, Remus. Twelve years, and James was dead, and Peter was gone, and you were on your own.” Sirius closed his eyes, wringing out the tears that had been waiting to fall. They slipped silently down his cheeks as Sirius’s lower lip trembled. “God, it was all I could think about. It ran through my head over and over and over again—that you went to James and Lily’s funeral alone.” 

“Oh, no. Sirius, no.” Remus pulled Sirius into his arms, resting his chin on Sirius’s head. “Please don’t say things like that.  _ Please _ . It’s not your fault, none of it is your fault.” 

Sirius trembled where Remus held him. “It  _ is _ my fault,” he whispered. “I suggested that Peter become their Secret Keeper. If it wasn’t for me, everything would be okay—James and Lily would be alive, you wouldn’t have been alone. Harry would’ve had parents, for God’s sake.”

Remus’s chest  _ hurt. _ He should’ve known, should’ve guessed—after twelve years of endless psychological torture, it made sense that Sirius was carrying this around with him—but Sirius always seemed so confident, so happy. It was all a show, of course it was, and Remus was just too thick to see it. “Stop it,” he whispered. “Do you think I don’t wonder what I could’ve done differently? Sirius, I’ve spent years replaying that day. But you have to realize that these thoughts aren’t yours. They were forced into your head by the dementors.” 

Sirius’s body quaked. A second later, he shattered: shoulders heaving, hands shaking, choked sobs bursting free. Remus held Sirius as tightly as he could. Suddenly, it felt like Remus was the only thing keeping his friend together. 

It was long minutes before Sirius’s sobs died down. Remus kept his arms wrapped tightly around Sirius—nothing on this earth could force him to let go. 

“I think you’re right, Remus,” Sirius murmured into his chest. 

“About what?” 

“About the kid. About keeping him here, at least for the time being.” Sirius tilted his head up, meeting Remus’s eyes. “I couldn’t help Regulus. But maybe… maybe we can help him.”

***

When Tonks stopped in front of the boy’s door, he didn’t so much as stir. He was laying on his side, staring at the opposite wall with his back turned to her and a pillow tucked under his skin. He wasn’t asleep—his breathing was unsteady, and he stiffened when he heard the sound of footsteps—but he was definitely ignoring her. 

“Hey, kid,” Tonks said. “I brought you lunch.” 

Draco said nothing. 

“The mac-n-cheese is homemade!” she boasted. “Well. Not really. It’s Kraft. But I heated it up and everything!” 

“Go away,” Draco snapped. 

“Is this teenage angst? Because I’m sensing teenage angst.”

Draco flipped over with a glare that probably would’ve scared Tonks if she gave a shit. Luckily for her, she had faced far scarier things than a sixteen-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. “Why the fuck are you here?” Draco demanded. 

“I told you,” Tonks replied. “I brought you food!”

Draco scowled at her tray of mac-n-cheese, Diet Coke, and chocolate. “That hardly counts as food.”

Tonks laughed, long and loud. “God, you’re such a dick, Malfoy. It’s kind of cute. You’re like a tiny little kitten just learning how to use its claws.”

Draco sat up, outrage clear on his face. “Did you just call me a  _ kitten—”  _

“Finally, you’re done sulking.” Tonks rolled her eyes. “That was getting exhausting.”

“I do not  _ sulk—” _

“You were totally sulking.” Tonks snickered, but some of the mirth vanished from her face when she settled into her usual chair. “Is it about what Sirius said to you this morning?”

Draco turned his face away. “I don’t care about anything that idiot said.” 

“Then why are you still upset?” 

“I’m not upset!” Draco snapped. 

Tonks quirked an eyebrow and waited. 

Draco gritted his teeth. “Fine! Lupin bursting in here after I practically begged him to stay away didn’t fucking help!”

“Right. You have issues with vulnerability.” Tonks nodded sagely. “I forgot.” 

Tonks could practically see the steam coming out from Draco’s ears. “I don’t have issues with vulnerability. Maybe I just don’t want the man who holds my life in his hands to see how fucking  _ weak _ I am!” The second the words left Draco’s lips, he clapped a hand over his mouth, like he hadn’t meant to say them. His face went beet-red. 

Tonks sighed, settling back into her chair. “See, it’s hard to make fun of you after you say shit like that.”

Draco lowered his hand slowly. “Like what?”  
  
“I don’t know. Sad shit!” Tonks threw her hands in the air. “Fuck, kid. You had a panic attack, and you’re worried that Remus is going to think you’re weak?” 

The kid’s scowl deepened. “What should I be worried about?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe about the fact that it’s not fucking normal for a sixteen-year-old to have a panic attack at the mention of his father!” Tonks ran an agitated hand through her bubblegum-pink hair. “Christ, kid, your priorities are out of whack.”’

Draco clenched his jaw. “Stop talking.”

“But I—”

_ “Stop it.  _ I don’t want your pity, do you hear me?” The boy’s voice rose as he ran an agitated hand through his hair. “My father loves me. Everything he does is to be sure I’m the best I can be, so that I don’t end up a failure like everyone else in this house!” 

Tonks’s face was sad. “I don’t think you know what love is.” 

_ “Shut up!”  _

Draco was breathing hard. His hands were clenched into fists by his sides, and his whole body was shaking. 

Tonks offered him a weak smile. “Sorry. Can I come inside?”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?” 

“To give you your lunch.” 

Draco pressed himself against the headboard. “Fine. Just don’t… touch me.” 

“Okay.” Tonks stood and passed through the invisible barrier. Tiny shivers passed over her skin as the spell brushed over her, but then she was standing inside the room, only a few feet away from where Draco was hunched over. She set the lunch tray on the end of the bed. 

Despite all of Draco’s protestations, he attacked the mac-n-cheese with an almost animalistic hunger. Now that Tonks thought about it, in the four days or so that Draco had been staying at Grimmauld Place, he’d never passed up a meal, even when he had no reason to believe they wouldn’t poison him—and Tonks couldn’t forget the image of the boy’s ribs sticking out through his pale, skeletal chest. 

Tonks was starting to really,  _ really _ hate Lucius Malfoy. 

“Hey, kid?” 

“What?”

Tonks sank down onto the floor, crossing her legs and leaning back against the wall. “You can take your time, you know—I’m not going to take that away until you’re finished.” 

Draco scowled at her. “Can you piss off, please?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tonks held up her hands. “I’ll stop talking.” 

The boy turned back to his meal, but Tonks noticed he was eating less frantically. 

And oh, if that didn’t make Tonks’s blood  _ boil. _ The kid flinched whenever anybody moved too fast; he hated to be seen as weak; he seemed certain that they were going to hurt him; and he acted like food was a privilege, not a right. He was prickly, but only when he felt vulnerable, and he was covered in so many bruises it hurt to look at him. 

Not that Tonks would  _ ever _ admit it, but the moment Draco had agreed to let her into his room that first time, she had started to feel some sort of sick responsibility for the kid. It was obvious that nobody had ever taken care of him, but he had trusted Tonks enough to let her tend to his wounds, albeit reluctantly. And that trust had done something to Tonks’s head. Now, she felt strangely protective towards the shithead—he might’ve been hard to deal with at the best of times, but he was a kid, and he was hurting, and what sort of a person would Tonks be if she ignored a frightened child? 

_ For now, at least, he’s  _ our _ pain, _ Remus had said. 

As Tonks watched Draco eat, she thought that described their relationship pretty well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, and there we have the first real hints of kindness towards Draco from Remus! They still have a long way to go, 
> 
> This chapter was incredibly satisfying to write. I have been waiting SO LONG for this, Draco’s never really been treated with kindness before so even just these bare hints of human decency are ridiculously rewarding. 20,000 words in, and we’re only just brushing the surface of the promised *adoption,* but the wait makes it worth it. Even so, ARGH, this kid needs a goddamn HUG!!
> 
> It’s also really great to see Sirius finally thaw a bit. Like, I love Sirius’s sassy persona, but he literally went through TWELVE YEARS of psychological torture, so it makes sense to me that he would also have some degree of PTSD. I think that in order for him to accept Draco, he needs to handle some of his own trauma, so I guess we’re just starting along that road. 
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was juicy and I loved writing it. I hope you guys liked it, too! Let me know what you think. 
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone, and happy Monday!
> 
> First of all, I’d like to thank you all for being so understanding about last Thursday. I’m really sorry I didn’t get to update—between the election, college apps, and the death of my fish, I just didn’t have the time and emotional energy to write this chapter to my satisfaction. All of your guys’s support and kind words were really appreciated, so thank you to every single one of you! Don’t worry, I’m definitely not going to abandon this fic. It means a lot to me already. 
> 
> Second of all, thank you guys so much for all your support of this fic! We’re almost at 4,000 hits, WHAT? That’s crazy!! All of your guys’s kudos and kind comments are so, so appreciated, it makes me insanely happy to see that you guys are enjoying what I wrote. 
> 
> The last two chapters were pretty damn angsty, so this one is *slightly* lighter. I hope you enjoy it! Without further ado, here’s chapter 9. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle

(20 days until the full moon)

Over the next few days, they fell into a routine. Tonks came to visit Draco every day. He grumbled about how annoying she was, but whenever she started to leave, he asked questions about her favorite punk bands until she promptly forgot where she was going. Lupin dropped by every once in a while with cryptic smiles and kind words. More often than not, he and Draco ate chocolate together in silence. 

Since the day of Draco’s panic attack, Sirius had avoided his room like the plague. Draco was glad he stayed away. 

On the fourth day, Tonks showed up outside his door with a shit-eating grin that Draco knew meant trouble. She was holding something behind her back. “Hallo, Draco. Mind if I come inside?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Tonks shrugged, slipping through the barrier. “Not today, no. I want to show you something.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Should I be scared?”

“Ha ha, you think you’re funny, don’t you?” The pink-haired witch looked practically giddy. “Okay, okay, but you have to close your eyes.” 

Immediately, Draco’s limbs locked up. “No.” 

“Come on, Draco,” Tonks whined. “You’re going to ruin the surprise.” 

_ When you close your eyes, you can’t see what’s coming. These people want to hurt you, Draco. No matter how kind they act, they only want to cause you pain— _

Draco swallowed. “Show me if you like, but I’m not going to close my eyes.” 

Tonks’s expression flickered. Her eyes narrowed, then widened, like she understood something she hadn’t before. “Oh— _ oh. _ Okay, Draco, that’s fine. Just prepare yourself, it’s really good.” She smiled so wide her nose scrunched up. “Are you ready?”

“Just show me already,” Draco snapped. 

Tonks pulled the item out from behind her back. “Ta da!” 

Draco blinked. It was a black pullover hoodie that looked to be several sizes too large for Tonks—but then again, most of Tonks’s clothing didn’t fit her properly, so maybe Draco shouldn’t have been surprised. There was a Weird Sisters logo emblazoned on the front. 

When Draco didn’t immediately react, Tonks held it out farther. “Do you like it?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright,” Draco said. “It suits you.” 

Tonks giggled. “Suits  _ me? _ It’s for you, silly!” 

_ “... what?”  _

Tonks dropped onto the bed next to Draco—he only flinched a little, but she didn’t seem to notice—and held it up to her chest so that he could see it better. “I got it for you! You’re always asking questions about the music I like, and the Weird Sisters is my favorite band, so… I thought you might like it. And it’s not like you have any clothes of your own here.” She looked up, and the hope in her eyes made her face look younger. “So what do you think?” 

Suddenly, Draco felt like crying. 

Tonks’s face fell when she saw his expression. “You hate it, don’t you?” 

“No!” Draco cleared his throat, looking away. “No, it’s not that. I like it. A lot.” 

“Then why do you look upset?” 

“I’m not upset. I just…” Draco’s cheeks flushed pink, and when he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “I don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me.” 

Tonks’s shoulders relaxed, and she grinned again. “I’m being nice to you ‘cause I like you. You’re sort of a git most of the time, but you’re fun to talk to, and you’re the only person here who isn’t, like,  _ forty.”  _ Tonks rolled her eyes. “I tried playing the Weird Sisters for Remus once. He said they sounded like a group of banshees with tuberculosis trapped inside a burning building.” 

Tonks shoved the hoodie into his arms. “Are you going to try it on, or what?” 

It was plain cotton, and Draco was so thin that he was practically swimming in it, but the inside was ridiculously soft. Draco’s father never would have allowed him to wear something so casual— _ clean yourself up, Draco,  _ he would’ve said,  _ you look like a homeless person. _ But Draco had no idea looking like a homeless person would be so  _ comfortable.  _

“I love it,” Draco murmured. “Thank you.” 

Tonks squealed, clapping your hands together. “It looks awesome! Now you won’t have to steal Sirius’s clothes anymore.” 

Draco’s lips quirked. “Well, not his coats, anyway.” 

“Hold that thought,” Tonks said, then darted out of the room. 

When she came back, she was holding three paper shopping bags so full they were almost bursting. She grinned. “Surprise!” 

Draco’s eyes widened. “Uh. Tonks?” 

“It occurred to me that you might be happier if you had some things of your own to wear, so I went shopping. I was most excited about the sweatshirt, but…” she set the bags down on the bed, “I might’ve gone a little overboard.” 

A lump rose in Draco’s throat, but he swallowed it back down. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Why are you doing all of this for me?” 

Tonks blushed, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand. “Listen, kid. I know this situation isn’t exactly optimal for you, and you’re going to be stuck here for a while yet. You’ve had a pretty rough go of it lately. And if I can do something to make that suck a little bit less… that seems worth it to me.”

Draco didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. 

Tonks cleared her throat. “Anyway.” She plopped back onto the bed with a smile that looked a bit more forced than before. “Let’s look through all the cool stuff I got you!” 

In the end, Draco wound up with two pairs of jeans (a bit too large, but Tonks claimed he’d grow into them once he gained some weight); twelve new shirts (Tonks apparently had a weakness for graphic tees); batman pajamas ( _ “You realize I’m sixteen years old, don’t you?” “What, so you’re too old for batman? As if.” _ ); a jumper; some socks; and, to Draco’s utter embarrassment, two packs of boxers. 

Once they’d finished unpacking it all, Tonks stood and walked to the door. “Get dressed. We have one last surprise for you.” 

Draco quirked a brow.  _ “We?”  _

“Me, Remus, and Sirius.” Tonks grinned so wide that Draco could hardly see her eyes. “We talked it over, and after a bit of encouragement, they finally agreed to let you come out of your room.” 

***

When Tonks said “encouragement,” she meant three days of annoying Remus and Sirius until they broke down. 

They’d taken precautions, of course—Sirius had been given permission to “Draco-proof” the house to his discretion, the front door was warded so that Draco couldn’t escape, and Tonks was supposed to watch the kid to be sure he didn’t stir up too much trouble. 

But from what Tonks could tell, the kid was basically harmless. With a wand, he hadn’t managed to do any irreversible damage, and without one, it seemed like the worst he could do was growl at them. Besides, if they were going to keep him here much longer, they needed to make  _ some _ concessions to keep him from going stir-crazy. 

Draco knocked on the door to let her know that he was ready to come out, and Tonks smiled when she saw that he was wearing his Weird Sisters hoodie. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his hands were shoved in his pockets, but his face looked less harsh than usual, and Tonks counted that as progress. 

It didn’t take long for Tonks to dissolve the barrier separating Draco from the rest of the house. It took much longer for Draco to muster up the courage to leave. He stood at the threshold, almost as if he was afraid to cross it, like if he left the sanctuary that had sheltered him thus far, something bad would happen. 

Luckily for Draco, Tonks was patient. 

Remus turned when Tonks entered the kitchen, Draco trailing behind her like a lost puppy. He didn’t seem surprised to see Draco out and about. “Good afternoon, Draco,” he said with a smile. “Would you like some tea?”

***

Sirius Draco-proofed the house with a bit too much enthusiasm. 

“... what is this?” Draco asked. 

“It’s a spoon.” 

“You’re expecting me to eat spaghetti with a spoon?”

“I don’t trust you not to stab somebody with a fork.” 

“...” 

“Eat up.”

***

“Did you steal my fucking  _ shoelaces?”  _

“Language,” Remus scolded without looking up from his paper.

Sirius crossed his arms. “You could choke someone with your shoelaces.” 

Draco groaned and stormed away. (His left shoe fell off before he reached the door.)

***

“Alright, this has officially gone too far,” Draco growled. 

Sirius looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “What has?” 

_ “Give me back my toothbrush.” _

“I spent twelve years in prison, kid—don’t think I don’t know how easy it is to make a shiv.” 

And despite Sirius’s rampant paranoia,  _ that _ was the first time in days Draco had really considered committing murder. 

(His homicidal tendencies were curbed, however, as Tonks stole back his toothbrush when Sirius wasn’t looking.)

***

(18 days until the full moon)

Remus was awoken in the middle of the night to the sound of screaming. 

His heart stopped.  _ Sirius.  _

In seconds, he was on his feet. The room was so dark that he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face; he felt around his bedside table until his fingers closed over his wand.  _ “Lumos!” _

The faint, silvery light pouring out of his wand cast long, looming shadows over the walls of the room. Remus padded across the rough, creaking floorboards. The screams, which had died off momentarily, started again. 

Remus broke into a run. 

He knew this, had been here before. The nightmares that haunted Sirius… they were terrible. Ever since they were children, there had been nights like this, nights when it was all Remus could do to hold his friend and rock him and tell him everything was okay. His footsteps quickened as he made his way to Sirius’s room and threw open the door, only to run into… 

_ Sirius?  _

The screaming still hadn’t let up. 

He stared at Sirius. Sirius stared back. 

The sleep-addled fog that had fallen over his brain cleared enough for him to understand.  _ “Draco,”  _ he gasped. 

In seconds, he was tearing down the hall in the opposite direction, heart pounding in time with his rapid footsteps. From the sound of it, Sirius was right behind him. 

The boy, of course it was the boy. The boy who flinched when he was touched. The boy who couldn’t look them in the eye. The boy with scars on his wrists and his back and his chest, whose bruises had yet to fade entirely. 

Remus rounded the corner at the same time as Tonks. Her eyes were wild, her bubblegum-pink hair sticking up in all directions. “The kid…” 

With a muttered curse, Remus approached the boy’s door. He tried the handle, only to find that the door was locked. Remus grit his teeth. Did the boy feel so unsafe that he had to lock them out at night? After everything, was he so convinced that he would hurt them that he couldn’t sleep where they might find him? 

Remus answered his own question as soon as he asked it. With what the boy had been through, of course he was. 

_ “Alohomora!” _ Remus whispered. The lock clicked, and he pushed the door open. 

Remus launched himself onto the bed, gripping the boy’s shoulders so hard his fingers trembled and shaking him until his head lolled. “Draco, you have to wake up. Draco!” 

The boy’s eyes flew open. He was… wild, convulsing on the bed, clawing at the hands that held him. An animalistic snarl was torn from his throat. 

“Draco!” Remus roared. “It’s me. It’s alright, you’re safe.” 

A shudder coursed through the boy’s entire body as some of the panic in his eyes cleared. His thin chest heaved as he stared up at Remus, and to Remus’s horror, tears were coursing down his cheeks. In that moment, with his blond hair and batman pajamas, he looked so small and scared and vulnerable that Remus thought his chest might break in two. 

But the moment ended as soon as it had begun.  _ “Don’t touch me!”  _ Draco snarled, shoving against Remus’s chest so hard that he was forced to release him. 

Draco flipped onto his side so that he was facing away from Sirius, curling in on himself and hugging his knees to his chest. He buried his face in his pillow so that Remus couldn’t see it. 

The boy’s shoulders were heaving. He tried to hide it, but Remus could tell. 

He was  _ crying.  _

Remus stretched out a hand, but stopped just before resting it on Draco’s back. He so badly wanted to comfort the boy—would it help if he tried to touch him, or would that only drive him into more of a frenzy? For once in Remus’s life, he had no idea what to do. 

The mattress creaked. Remus looked over with wild eyes to find Sirius perched on the bed next to him, and he shook his head.  _ Not now, _ he said with his eyes. 

Sirius ignored him. The look on his face… Sirius usually hid everything behind a wall of humor and sarcasm and, at times, downright cruelty. But right now, he was completely unshuttered. Did he see what Remus saw—Sirius as a young, frightened boy, huddled by the fire in the Gryffindor common room? Or did he see Regulus, the brother who had made all the wrong decisions, who he never got the chance to save? “I get them, too,” Sirius murmured. 

Draco dragged his hands through white-blond hair, leaving it standing on end.  _ “Leave me the fuck alone!”  _ he shouted. His voice was shrill from screaming. 

Sirius kept talking—low, steady. His voice was as gentle as Remus had ever heard it. “I don’t know what yours are about, but my parents haunted my nightmares for years. Sometimes they still do.” His eyes were far away. “One time my mother slammed my head into a glass table so hard it shattered. It happened in this house, did you know that? The rug in the living room is strategically placed to hide the bloodstains.” 

Remus’s heart gave a painful squeeze. “Sirius…” 

“Y’know, during that time, Hogwarts was really my only escape. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had to stay in this house year-round.” Sirius snorted. “I wasn’t a star pupil by any means—but I loved school. It was the only place I went where I knew I would be safe.” 

A shudder coursed through Draco’s body, and he hugged his knees tighter to his chest. 

“My parents wanted me to be a Death Eater, but I just… couldn’t,” Sirius said. “At the time, I thought it was a weakness. When I was sorted into Gryffindor…” He ran a tired hand over his face. “I came home and they beat me senseless. I had two broken ribs and more bruises than I could count. I  _ hated _ myself.” 

Remus slipped his hand into Sirius’s and squeezed. He hated it—what Sirius had gone through, what Draco had gone through. He hated that the world was cruel and children suffered for it. He hated that he couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Being stuck in this house is harder than you can imagine. Everywhere I go, I see them. I see the place where my father kicked me down the stairs, where my father forced my hand onto the hot stove. I hear my brother’s laugh in the hallways.” Sirius’s voice cracked. He paused for a second before forcing himself to continue on. “I still get scared. But whenever it becomes too much for me, I find Tonks or Remus, and talking with them reminds me that I’m safe.” 

“Safe,” the boy repeated. His voice was thick with tears, but nevertheless, Remus could hear the scorn in his tone. “I’ve never been safe, not once in my fucking life. Safe is a lie.” 

“I used to think so, too, until James’s family took me in. They were kinder to me than I deserved.” Sirius let out a rattling breath. “Living with them… for the first time, I realized what home meant.” 

Draco closed his eyes, despair pulling down the corners of his lips. “Please. Just go.”

“We’re not going to leave until we’re sure you’re okay,” Remus said gently. “It would help if you talked to us.”

“What do you want me to say?” Draco snapped. “That I broke seven bones before my tenth birthday? That one time my father got drunk and beat me up for being born? That I keep waiting for you to lash out and  _ I don’t know why the fuck you haven’t hit me yet? _ Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The words hit Remus like a punch in the stomach. He had known, or at least suspected, that Draco’s father had given him those bruises, but to hear it from Draco… it made Remus’s chest ache. “No,” he said. “Of course not. That’s…” He hissed out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Draco, I’m not Lucius Malfoy.”

“No, you’re worse,” Draco whispered, hands fisted around the bedsheets to hide the way they trembled. “At least my father says what he really thinks. You pretend to be so gentle and good and  _ kind,” _ he spat the word like it was poison, “so when it all comes crashing down, it’ll hurt that much worse.” 

“Stop it, Draco,” Remus whispered. He shook his head. “We’re not going to hurt you. Not ever.”

“Yes, you will. I’ll screw up—I always do.” 

“Draco, look at me.” 

The boy remained as he was, facing towards the wall with his knees curled into his chest. 

“Draco—” Remus reached out, placing his hand on the boy’s thin, bony shoulder. Draco flinched so violently that Remus reeled back, Draco’s pale hands coming up to protect his face like he was expecting a blow. He made a choked, painful noise that sounded like a sob. 

Remus was shaking. He didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know how to fix this. This boy, this child, was so devastated—so  _ broken. _ His father had done that to him, put those shadows in his eyes, and nothing—no spell or potion or gentle touch or kind word—could heal the wounds on Draco’s scarred, battered heart. 

“Tell me what to do,” Remus begged. “Tell me how to help you.” 

Draco let out a shuddering breath. “Just go.”

Remus might’ve stayed, might’ve fought. But Sirius took his hand with a shake of his head, and Remus could read the message in his eyes:  _ we’ll never get him to trust us if we don’t give him space. _

But Remus wanted nothing less than to leave this boy hurting and alone. 

Nevertheless, he didn’t struggle when Sirius led him from the room, casting a final glance over his shoulder at the thin, trembling figure on the bed before Sirius closed the door. 

Tonks was sitting outside, leaning against the wall. From the tears tracking down her face, she had heard the whole thing. 

Remus said nothing when Draco locked the door behind him. 

He didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, ominous countdown to the full moon? I wonder what that could mean… 
> 
> Also, did I say that this chapter was less angsty? It was meant to be, but I couldn’t help myself, and made it possibly the most traumatic chapter so far. Oops? 
> 
> But anyway, did someone say DADS??? I feel like this is the first time Remus and Sirius have ever come together to just, like, protect The Boy. And the way they’re sitting on his bed and everything, they’re just like… fathers. Dads. 
> 
> Also, Remus making tea for Draco is a brief nod to Kanut from The Art of Burning by @hella1975. It’s my favorite fic of all time and it indirectly inspired Blood Moon Rising. If you haven’t read it yet… uh, why not? Hella is also basically the sweetest person in the whole world, so definitely go support her <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed chapter nine! See you on Thursday. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: self-harm, sort of? Not really, but a little bit? It's not that bad, but that's a trigger for me, so just letting you guys know. 
> 
> Okay so... y'know how the last chapter was supposed to be slightly less dark but I just couldn't hold myself back from adding some angst there at the end? Because I planned on the last chapter being fluffier, I planned on this chapter being angsty as FUCK. And so it is. The angst is REAL. But you guys signed up for this, so deal with it. 
> 
> Also, I made a tumblr!  
> I always love hearing what you guys have to say, so if you have questions, comments, or you just want to get to know me better, I'd love to hear from you! 
> 
> Without further ado, here's chapter 10.   
> Much love,   
> Noelle

(17 days until the full moon)

Draco woke up. He got dressed. He brushed his teeth. He wanted to be embarrassed about last night—what had come over him, to let Lupin and Sirius see him so vulnerable? Had they really seen him cry?—and yet he felt nothing. Everything inside him was still and cold. Because the nightmare… it hadn’t faded when he woke up. 

_ Where are you, Draco?  _

He shuddered as the smooth, saccharine voice slid over his skin. 

_ I reward those who serve me, Draco—and I punish those who disobey. Which are you, I wonder.  _

Another shudder coursed through him, so powerful that his knees almost gave out. He had to clutch the sink to keep himself standing. 

He still saw him whenever he closed his eyes: pale skin, almost translucent, and black robes that fell from a skeletal frame. Slits where a nose should be and pale, bloodless lips. Spindle fingers, long and ivory, reaching out to caress Draco’s face with horrific gentleness. And those eyes… red as roses, red as blood. Piercing, penetrating, staring seemingly into Draco’s very soul. 

He tried to remember what Bellatrix had taught him about Occlumency.  _ Empty your mind, Draco. Block off your emotions—you are empty. You are nothing. _

Those days, those lessons, had been marked by pain. Strikes, kicks, even lashings when he failed. But Bellatrix had been patient, and he had learned. His emotions had become distant,  _ other _ , an entity not of himself. 

But in the last two weeks, something had shifted. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep his emotions at bay, and the Dark Lord had penetrated his dreams with little more than a thought. 

Draco closed his eyes, and immediately, the images swarmed him:  _ he tried to lurch out of the Dark Lord’s hold, but found that he could not move a muscle. Could not fight, could not tear his eyes away from the man’s terrible face. Could not so much as blink. His laugh was cold and high, full of cruel delight, even as his fingers tightened around Draco’s face, digging in tight enough to draw blood. It streamed down Draco’s cheeks like tears, sticky and scarlet. The metallic tang of it burned in his nose— _

Draco’s eyes snapped open. He took a stumbling step back, wrapping his hands around his throat as he gasped for breath. The Dark Lord was angry. 

_ He’s going to kill me.  _

Draco looked up, meeting his own gaze in the bathroom mirror. He almost didn’t recognize the gaunt, pale boy staring back at him. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken. The bruised purple shadows under his eyes were the color of silence and tears. 

But as he stared at his reflection, it started to warp and twist: grey eyes turning blood red, skin growing translucent, a stretched, gruesome smile creeping across his face. Within seconds, the Dark Lord was staring back at him. 

_ You think you know pain, _ the Dark Lord hissed. _ Draco, you have no idea what true pain is. Would you like to find out?  _

With a sweep of his arm, Draco sent the mirror flying off the wall. There was a terrible crash as it shattered across the ground, shards of glass flying in every direction and scattering like stars. 

“Draco?” someone called, but the voice sounded like it was coming from under water. 

Panting, Draco stared down at the destruction he had wrought, only to find red eyes staring back at him from one of the shards on the floor. 

_ Stupid child,  _ the voice hissed.  _ You cannot get rid of me so easily. _

Draco dropped to his knees in the midst of the wreckage. The eyes—the eyes were watching him. He had to stop it, stop it, stop it, _ stop it— _

The glass sliced his hands as he dug through the shards, but the pain was a dull, distant thing. He had to find the eyes, to destroy them. The Dark Lord was in his head, looking into his mind, reading his thoughts. 

_ Tell me, Draco—why is Remus Lupin still alive?  _

Draco’s shoulders were shaking, dry, heaving sobs rocking his slender frame. The tiled floor was wet with blood. 

Someone was pounding at the door, but Drao hardly heard it. “What’s wrong? Open the door, Draco!”

The Dark Lord’s laugh was high and cruel in his mind.  _ Have they treated you kindly, Draco? Do you think they have your best interests at heart? You are a fool if you believe it. They’re using you. And when you’re no longer of use to them, they’ll throw you away.  _

“Shut up,” Draco hissed, tears leaking out of his eyes. 

Images filled his head: Lupin’s hand cracking across his cheek, Sirius’s fist burying itself in his stomach, Tonks’s boot grinding his face into the ground. They were laughing, laughing as Draco choked on his own blood, as the pain dulled his vision. 

Tonks’s hand fisted in his hair.  _ You are nothing, she hissed.  _

_ Trash,  _ Sirius spat, wrapping his hand around Draco’s throat.  _ You deserve this.  _

And then there was Lupin, face hard, eyes cold, looming above him. So tall, so cruel, scars stark against his pale skin—but his face morphed, shifted, until it was his father staring down at him.  _ If you fail, you are no longer my son. _

The Dark Lord knew, had sifted through enough of his memories to make him hurt.

Draco writhed on the ground, running his bloody hands through his hair. He didn’t feel the glass as it cut into his skin or the rapidly cooling blood that drenched him.  _ “Get out of my head!” _ he shrieked. 

The door burst open, and there was Lupin. And oh, was he imagining things, or had the man always looked so cruel? Draco scrambled away across the floor, slicing his hands further, but suddenly it seemed of utmost importance that Draco get as far away from Lupin as possible. His shoulders heaved with silent sobs. “S-stay away,” he demanded. 

Lupin sucked in a breath. His eyes guttered when he saw Draco, pale and bleeding on the ground. He stretched out a hand, like he wanted to touch Draco, but Draco flinched away. 

“Draco, what’s happening?” Lupin asked. His voice was gentle. “I need to know what’s going on.”

“H-he’s in my h-head…” Draco’s fingers tightened in my hair. “L-last night… it wasn’t a dream… it was h-him…” 

“Who’s in your head?” Lupin raised his hands and took a step forward, like he was approaching a cornered animal. “Draco, I need you to talk to me.” 

_ “The Dark Lord.”  _

Lupin froze. “... what?”

Draco doubled over as the onslaught of visions slammed into him once more. “Please, make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!”

Lupin dropped to his knees. “Draco, look at me. You have to breathe, okay?” 

“No more,” Draco whimpered. 

“I can help you,” Lupin murmured. “Please, let me help you.”

Draco only sobbed. 

“Look at me,” Lupin said again. 

The boy dared to look up, meeting Lupin’s soft, gentle gaze. The man looked stricken. Was Draco imagining the way Lupin’s eyes glistened? 

“You can block him out, Draco,” Lupin said, “but you need to breathe. Can you do that for me?  _ Breathe, Draco.”  _

Draco caught a glimpse of a red eye staring at him from the shards of the shattered mirror. He grabbed at the glass, hardly caring as it sliced his hands into ribbons, only caring that he get that eye as far away as possible. 

“Draco, stop it!” Lupin demanded. “You’re hurting yourself!” 

But Draco wouldn’t stop—no, he  _ couldn’t _ stop. Not while the Dark Lord was in his head, violating his mind, invading his memories. 

Lupin’s arms banded around Draco’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides, as he hauled Draco away from the mess of blood and glass on the ground. The second he touched Draco, the boy started screaming. He knew what was coming, knew from the very depths of his being: Lupin was going to hurt him. 

One final, damning thought echoed through him as Lupin forced Draco out of the room:  _ You have until the full moon to kill Remus Lupin. If you fail, you will die.  _

***

The boy was…  _ rabid _ . 

He fought every step of the way, clawing against Remus’s hold as he dragged him out of the bathroom. The boy was covered in his own blood, and it made Remus’s chest ache to think that he was causing him more pain—but if he didn’t get Draco out of there, he would only hurt himself worse. 

_ “Let go of me!”  _

“Please, Draco,” Remus whispered in his ear. His voice cracked. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“He’s gonna kill me!” Draco sobbed. “He’s gonna fucking kill me!” 

Remus tightened his arms around the boy’s shoulders. “You’re safe here, Draco.” 

At his words, Draco broke: crumbling, shoulders shaking, sobs overtaking him as he sagged in Remus’s arms. Suddenly it felt like Remus was the only thing holding him together. 

Remus didn’t know what to say, what to do. He didn’t know how to make this better. It was all he could do to hold the boy’s arms at his sides, terrified that if he let them slip, he’d launch into another self-destructive rampage. But right now, Draco didn’t seem volatile. He just seemed… broken. 

Slowly enough that he could backpedal if something went wrong, Remus loosed his arms around Draco’s chest. When the boy didn’t immediately lurch out of his hold, he allowed it to soften even more, until it felt like less of a death grip and more of an embrace. He couldn’t let go completely—not when he was practically holding the boy up—so they stayed like that, Remus’s chest pressed against Draco’s back, one holding the other as he shattered.

“It’s going to be okay, Draco,” Remus soothed. 

“No,” the boy sobbed. “No, it’s not okay. It’s not okay, it’s not okay, it’s—”

Remus could feel Draco spiraling. He tightened his hold, rocking the boy back and forth like a baby, shushing him under his breath. 

“He’s going to kill me,” Draco whispered. 

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” Remus’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Do you understand me?” 

A shudder coursed through Draco, and Remus wondered—he  _ had _ to wonder—if anyone had ever made such a promise to him. If anyone had ever cared enough to keep him safe. 

So Draco sobbed, and Remus held him, and he wondered how he could possibly make this okay. 

***

_ You have until the full moon to kill Remus Lupin. If you fail, you will die.  _

Another sob cracked through Draco’s chest, and Lupin’s hold around him tightened. Strangely enough, the touch was almost…  _ comforting _ . If his father had held him like this, it would’ve only meant trouble—but with Lupin, even the worst transgressions were met with gentleness. 

Draco didn’t trust it. But still he craved it. 

Lupin was murmuring under his breath, shushing him like he was a child, and that made it so much worse. Why couldn’t Lupin lash out at him? Strike him? Hurt him, like so many had before? If only he hated Lupin, it would be so easy. 

But from what he’d seen, Lupin was  _ kind. _ And that was too much to bear. 

***

Draco hadn’t said a word since his shoulders stopped shaking and his tears stopped flowing. He was sitting on the bed, staring resolutely at the wall and staunchly refusing to meet Remus’s eyes. He didn’t even react when Remus rolled up his sleeves to assess the damage he’d done to his hands. 

“You have too many scars for someone so young,” Remus murmured. 

Draco blinked, but said nothing. 

“I didn’t even have so many at your age,” Remus continued, “and I’m a werewolf. The change is… painful, to say the least, and I always end up doing damage to myself.” 

The boy’s lips twitched into a wry, humorless smile, but Remus didn’t understand what was so funny. “Yeah, I suppose being a werewolf would give you quite a few scars, wouldn’t it?” He winced as Remus plucked a piece of glass from his skin. 

It hurt somewhere deep inside to see a boy—a  _ child _ —so jaded and bruised. The more time Remus spent with him, the more obvious it became just how young he truly was. He pretended to be so hard, so cold, but the cracks were visible if you looked hard enough. Twice in less than a day, Remus had seen him break down. Remus almost wondered if broken was his natural state—if every smile or laugh or grin was an anomaly, if there were only a few islands of peace in a raging sea of heartbreak. 

Did his father give him all these scars, or were some—like the wounds on his hands—self-inflicted? Which answer would hurt worse? Did Remus even want to know? 

Remus started cleaning the boy’s wounds, as gently as he could, but it didn’t stop him from wincing in pain. “Sorry,” Remus murmured. “If I don’t take care of these, they could get infected, like your arms.” 

Draco’s eyes were dull and lifeless. “It’s fine.”

And suddenly, it seemed of utmost importance to ask. Before it hadn’t mattered, because Draco was cruel and biting and, most importantly,  _ not his problem. _ But now, Remus knew he couldn’t  _ not _ know, as much as he wished to live in blissful ignorance forever. “Can I ask you a question, Draco?” 

“That depends,” Draco said. 

Remus pushed the boy’s sleeves up further, studying the scabbed-over scratches gouged deep into his skin. “Your father didn’t do this to you, did he?”

Draco turned his face away, but his silence was answer enough. 

Remus let out a long, shuddering breath. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” 

This, as horrific as it was, was familiar territory for Remus. During his time at Hogwarts, he had seen students with scars beneath their sleeves, students with such sad eyes or—worse—students who looked like they felt nothing at all. He had never forced answers from them, never pushed beyond what they were comfortable sharing—but when those students had needed him, he had pulled them aside, listened to their troubles, and given them some chocolate. 

“Why did you break the mirror, Draco?” Remus asked. 

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled. 

“I’m not asking for an apology, I’m asking for an explanation.” Remus’s voice was gentle, yet stern. “You hurt yourself, and I want to know why.”

Draco’s throat worked. “He was watching me,” he whispered. 

“Voldemort?”

The boy flinched like he had been slapped. “Don’t say his name.  _ Don’t _ say his name!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Remus held his hands up in surrender. “I just want to know how I can help you.” 

Draco met his gaze, eyes wide and sad. “Professor?” 

Remus’s lips twist. “You can call me Remus, you know.”

“Remus.” The boy’s shoulders curled inwards. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “What do you do when you have to make a choice? A bad one?” 

Remus’s brow furrowed. A choice? What sort of choice? What had driven this boy so wild that he had sliced his hands into ribbons in an attempt to escape it? And what did it have to do with the Dark Lord? 

If he had to hazard a guess, Voldemort had demanded that Draco return to his side. It made sense, after all, given what the boy had been screaming— _ he’s going to fucking kill me.  _ But Remus couldn’t bear the thought of Draco returning to that cold, empty house, to the father who beat him, to the life that put those shadows in his eyes. 

_ What can I do to keep him safe? _

“It always helps to talk to the people who care about you,” Remus said. “Sometimes they can show you a path you didn’t see before. 

Draco’s spine stiffened. “And if that’s not an option?” 

Remus heaved a heavy sigh. “I guess you choose whatever you can live with.”

Draco’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing. 

Remus took the boy’s face between his hands. Draco flinched, panic flashing through his eyes—but when seconds passed and Remus’s hold remained gentle, he slowly began to relax. “I don’t want to bury you, Draco,” Remus murmured. “Remember that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does that count as a hug? Not really, but sort of. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading chapter 10! As always, thank you times a million to everyone who leaves kudos and comments, you guys make my day, and seeing what you think of my story really inspires me to keep writing it. 
> 
> Have a wonderful weekend!
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all, and happy Thursday!
> 
> First of all, I'm sorry I missed posting on Monday! I've been really, REALLY sick, and honestly SUPER out of it, and I'm basically just sleeping during all of my free time. I don't think it's COVID? But anyways, I'm just working really hard to take care of myself and get better. That being said, I know some people were disappointed that I didn't get to posting on Monday, so I'm sorry about that!
> 
> I'm still healing, and I haven't had much time to write recently, but I wanted to be sure I got SOMETHING out to you guys today. This won't be the longest chapter, and it's 90% just stupid fluff that has literally no impact on the actual story. I wasn't in the right headspace to write anything angsty, and I knew this chapter wouldn't be my best work, so I didn't want to write something too important. That being said, theres' been a LOT of angst recently in this story, and you guys deserve a little bit of levity after all that! So here's chapter 11. It's fluffy as hell, but I hope it doesn't disappoint! 
> 
> Thanks for your understanding!
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle

The boy was avoiding him. 

He wasn’t being subtle about it, either—when Remus walked into a room, Draco left. When they passed one another in the halls, the boy turned his eyes away. 

The others had surely noticed, but they didn’t say anything. 

If Remus had thought anything would change for the better after what had happened two days ago, he was a fool. So he’d held Draco, comforted him, bandaged his wounds—the boy still didn’t trust him. And when Draco seemed to be horrified of vulnerability, how could he expect the boy to move on so easily? 

But it didn’t mean it hurt any less. 

And it didn’t mean that Remus was going to stop trying. 

***

Draco walked into the sitting room, then promptly froze. “Whaaaaaat is happening?” 

Tonks grinned up at him. “Draco! Thank God you’re here. We’re having a movie night!” 

The boy blinked in surprise. “You’re having a—what?”

“Sirius has never seen  _ Nightmare on Elm Street, _ and we’re fixing it. Come on!” She pats the spot on the couch next to her. “Sit. Sirius is making popcorn.” 

Cautiously, Draco sank onto the couch, eyeing Tonks 

Immediately, Tonks leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. Draco stiffened, but didn’t pull away. “Do you have a favorite movie, Draco?”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I’ve never seen one.”

_ “What?”  _ Tonks sat bolt-upright. “You’re not serious.”

Draco shrugged, his cheeks going pink. “My father always said movies were for muggles.” 

“Your father sounds like a dick.”

Draco straightened. “I come from a very honorable family. He’s doing what he can to uphold tradition—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Tonks settled back against his side. 

Draco didn’t quite know what to do with himself. No one had ever touched him so casually before. His mother loved him, but she was distant at best, and his father… when his father touched him, it was always to inflict pain. But Tonks was about as far from ‘distant’ as it was possible to be, and though her hair tickled his throat as she leaned her head on his shoulder, her embrace was by no means painful. 

It was familiar, almost  _ familial.  _ And Draco had no idea how the fuck to handle it. 

“Hey, Tonks, is it set up?” Sirius asked, shouldering open the kitchen door. He was holding a heaping bowl of popcorn, but from the sizeable chunk missing from the side, he’d already started snacking. 

Tonks rolled her eyes. “You’re not supposed to eat the popcorn until the movie starts.”

“Whatever.” Sirius’s eyes flickered over Draco, sitting stiff and uncomfortable with Tonks leaning on him, but he wisely decided not to comment as he dropped onto the end of the couch. 

(The door swung open forty minutes later, and Remus walked into the sitting room. “Hey, Tonks, have you seen—”

Tonks screamed. Draco jumped. Sirius sent the popcorn bowl flying three feet in the air. Three sets of wide, frightened eyes turned to look at him. 

Remus’s mouth clicked shut. “I’ll come back later,” he said.)

***

If there was one thing Draco had learned about Grimmauld Place, it was that there was chocolate in abundance. 

Tonks liked to eat CocoPuffs cereal in the mornings—which Draco had never eaten before, but he soon developed an addiction. Lupin apparently kept a bar of chocolate on him at all times, and whenever he saw Draco frowning, he’d silently hand him a piece. They ate chocolate cake after dinner and drank hot chocolate when it rained. 

(Upon being offered chocolate hazelnut coffee creamer, Draco informed Lupin that he drank his coffee black. He had never seen Lupin look so disappointed in him.)

(Hadn’t he just tried to kill this man less than a month ago?)

(And was he really going to try to kill him again in two weeks?)

The thought upset Draco so much that he had to go and find some chocolate. 

***

The front door of Grimmauld Place burst open, and Tonks stepped inside. Her smile was wide and her eyes were twinkling. “Holy  _ fuck!” _

“Language,” Lupin scolded absently, but he didn’t look up from his issue of  _ The Daily Prophet.  _

“It’s snowing, Remus!” Tonks exclaimed. 

Lupin looked up, quirking an eyebrow. “Sounds cold.” 

Tonks dashed forward, grabbing Draco by the arm—he flinched a little, but he didn’t notice—and half-dragged him to the coat closet. “Draco and I are going outside for a bit!” 

“You realize he’s still our prisoner, right?” 

Tonks rolled her eyes so hard that her irises disappeared. “What’s he gonna do? Run wandless through the snow until he freezes to death?” 

Remus’s face was stern, but the softness in his eyes betrayed him. “And what are you planning to do with Draco out in the snow?”

“Make snow angels,  _ obviously.” _ Tonks shoved Sirius’s winter coat and mittens into Draco’s arms and dragged him out the door. 

“Um, Tonks?” 

“What?”

The words froze on Draco’s tongue, and he stopped in place. 

Grimmauld Place looked completely different in the snow. The trees were covered in bright white, and someone—likely a neighbor—had strung Christmas lights around their trunks. The air smelled fresh and clean, and the snowflakes caught in Draco’s hair and made the world look softer, sweeter. The air was cold against his skin. In the light of the setting sun, it was…  _ magical.  _

“Which are we making first, a snowman or snow angel?” Tonks demanded. 

“I don’t know,” Draco murmured. He was still drinking in the sights all around him. “I’ve never made either before.”

Tonks did a double take. “You’ve— _ what?”  _

Draco blinked, focusing on her. “It’s not proper for a Malfoy.”

“Proper my ass! Put on your gloves—we’re making a day of this.”

***

They came inside hours later, soaked through and shivering—but the boy had never smiled so wide, not once in the entire time they’d known him. 

Remus shooed them upstairs, demanding that they get changed before they caught a cold, then stepped into the kitchen. 

Sirius grinned from where he was sitting at the table. “He’s not a bad kid, Remus.”

_ Remus. What do you do when you have to make a choice? A bad one? _

“No. He’s not.” 

_ And if that’s not an option?  _

“What are we going to do with him?” Sirius asked. His smile faded. “I’ve never seen him smile before. We can’t—we can’t send him back there.”

“I know.” Remus let out a heavy sigh. “I guess we take it one day at a time. We do our best to keep him safe. And we try to make him smile whenever we can.”

So Remus put the kettle on the stove to make—what else?—hot chocolate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG SISTER TONKS! BIG SISTER TONKS! I just love her too goddamn much. 
> 
> Anyways, short chapter, and pretty irrelevant. It's Thanksgiving Break next week, so hopefully I'll have some time to write, and I can get you guys something a little more interesting. Thanks for sticking with me!!
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, y'all, and happy Monday!
> 
> SO, sorry I was absent last week! Idk, things got crazy, I don't have much of an excuse besides Thanksgiving prep and college apps. But the new chapter is here now, so yay!
> 
> Anyways, I'm sad to announce that I'll probably be changing my update schedule to only update once a week. I feel kinda bad, but I feel like I'll be able to be more consistent if I have a little more time to work on chapters. So, from now on I'll be posting every Monday. Sorry! You guys have been super awesome about being understanding of me when I've been sick and stuff, and for that I appreciate you one thousand percent!! 
> 
> Also, holy shit, 8,000 hits? That's crazy to me, I never really imagined this fic going anywhere, so just—FUCK, YOU GUYS ARE ALL AMAZING AND I LOVE YOU, OKAY? <33 TAKE MY LOVE AND AFFECTION 
> 
> As always, much love,   
> Noelle

(Ten days before the full moon)

Something was wrong. 

Sirius knew it the second he laid eyes on the boy. Draco’s smiles were few and far between, and his eyes were dull and lifeless. He was still too thin and too tense. 

(Sirius found himself thinking of Regulus more and more when he looked at him.)

But the boy had been relaxing lately. Maybe it was Tonks’s influence, or maybe he’d been here long enough to realize that they really weren’t planning on hurting him. Still, something was different today. His shoulders were stiff, and his wide, grey eyes darted around the room, like he was looking for some hidden attacker. 

(And Sirius found himself wondering what the boy’s eyes would’ve looked like if the shadows behind them hadn’t been so thick. Would they have been as bright as his brother’s used to be?)

“Hey, kid, you alright?” Sirius asked, taking a sip of his coffee. It was so sweet that it tasted more like coffee ice cream than actual coffee, but hey, that was how Sirius liked it. 

“Where’s Tonks?” the boy asked. His voice sounded dead. 

“She and Remus are out. It’s just me today.” 

The boy’s eyes flickered to Sirius, then dropped to the floor. He turned toward the kitchen door. 

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Sirius asked. His brow furrowed—the kid was too skinny. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“You should eat something anyways.” 

The boy turned to Sirius and glared. 

_ Oh. _ Draco wouldn’t eat anything as long as Sirius was perched at the kitchen table. Because out of everyone at Grimmauld place, Draco hated him the most. 

“You’re especially pissy today.” Sirius rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. “Fine, I’ll leave.” 

“You should let me go.” 

Sirius stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re keeping me here because I tried to kill Lupin. I get it, I do. But I’m more dangerous to him here.” Draco poured steaming black coffee into a mug and sipped. “Let me go. Move locations so I can’t tell anyone where to find you.” 

Sirius blinked. “What’ll happen to you?” 

“I’ll keep my head down so I don’t attract attention. I’ll be fine.” He sipped again at his coffee. “Probably.” 

Sirius crossed his arms, leaning back against the solid mahogany door. “And if you’re found?”

Draco shrugged, but the motion was strained. “It doesn’t matter much if I die. No one cares enough to miss me.” 

Sirius flinched. He actually  _ flinched.  _

(God dammit, had the kid actually started to grow on him?)

“See, I’m too cowardly to kill myself, but I’m also too cowardly to kill anyone else.” The boy’s hands tightened around his mug as he stared at the ground. “So if the Dark Lord does it for me, at least I won’t have to get my hands dirty.” 

And Sirius had no fucking idea what to say to that. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he choked out. 

The boy met his gaze, and there was an unflinching honesty in them. Draco wasn’t lying—he thought it would be better if he wound up dead. “Because Tonks wants to protect me and Lupin wants to help me, and I know you’re the only person here who doesn’t give a fuck.” 

And yeah, Sirius had been kind of a dick to the kid—interrogating him into a panic attack, then avoiding him ever since—but to his credit, he had thought he was doing the boy a favor by staying away. But for Draco to think Sirius wanted him dead? Had he really treated the kid so horribly? 

Or was it Draco’s own insecurities speaking? Had the boy grown up so devoid of love that he assumed the worst of everybody? 

“Kid,” Sirius choked. “If you’re trying to convince me to let you out of here, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you care.” 

“Of course I care, kid. You’re  _ sixteen.”  _

The boy’s shoulders stiffened. “I’ll be seventeen in two days.”

Sirius gaped. “You think that matters?” 

Draco’s jaw tightened, and his gaze fell. 

Holy shit, the kid  _ did _ think it mattered. They thought they were only showing him kindness—basic human decency—because of his age, and while they might’ve gone harder on him if he was an adult, it didn’t mean they were going to throw him to the wolves on his seventeenth birthday. 

Seventeen years old, and he had so many scars.  _ Fuck.  _

Sirius let out a breath, running a shaking hand down his face. “Listen, kid—I’m not the best with comforting people. Or children. Or… emotions in general.”

Draco snorted. “That is painfully obvious.” 

“Watch it,” Sirius snarled, but there was no real bite behind his words. “I’m going to tell you something that should have been painfully obvious, but apparently you’re just as oblivious as I am. I’m not going to let you out.” 

Draco’s gaze snapped up, and he looked ready to say something harsh, but Sirius cut him off. 

“I’m not going to let you out because I don’t want you  _ dead. _ I’m a shitty person, but I’m not  _ that _ shitty. Give me some credit.” 

Draco’s upper lip curled. “You’re an idiot.” 

“I mean, in general? Yeah. But not about this.” 

“I’m dangerous!” Draco snapped. 

“Dangerous?” Sirius laughed. “You’re probably seventy pounds soaking wet, and Tonks had to teach you how to make a fucking  _ snow angel. _ Oh, the terror.” 

Draco’s hands curled into fists. “I’m a Death Eater. Don’t you understand that?”

“Not yet, you’re not.” Sirius nodded at the boy’s forearm. “You don’t have the tattoo. It’s not too late for you yet.” 

“You’re right—I don’t have it because I’m worse than the rest of them!” Draco snapped. 

“What could possibly be worse than the Dark Mark?” 

Draco whirled, slamming his fist into the wall hard enough that the plaster crumbled. “You’re fucking stupid. If you had half a brain, you’d have kicked me out of here the s _ econd _ you saw my scars.” 

Sirius considered lecturing Draco about the hole in the wall—then remembered the dozen or so times he’d done the same thing as a kid, and promptly thought better of it. “We’re not going to throw you out into the snow just because your dad used to beat you up, kid.” 

“I’m not talking about that!” Draco snarled. His hand fisted in the material at the base of his throat, and he yanked down his shirt, revealing the gruesome bite mark covering the boy’s throat. “I’m talking about this!” 

_ Oh. Right.  _

Sirius let out a breath through his nose, because no matter where he got it from, no matter what creature had given that to him, it must’ve been  _ agonizing. _ And as much of a pain as the kid was, Sirius didn’t like thinking of anyone in that much pain. “You were tortured,” he murmured, and the words felt heavy on his tongue. 

“Of-fucking-course I was tortured, you moron, but that’s not the point!”

Sirius recoiled like he had been slapped. “Not the point? What could be more important than that?” He did the math in his head: if that scar had already turned white, it must’ve been inflicted a year ago at least, maybe more. That meant the boy would’ve been fifteen.  _ Fifteen years old.  _

And suddenly Sirius felt ready to throw up. 

“Draco,” he said slowly. “If you think I’m going to send you back into the clutches of the people who did that to you, think again.”

“You would if you were smart!”  
“Why?” 

_ “Because I’m a werewolf!” _

The words burst from the boy’s throat. His eyes widened in terror when he realized what he’d said—then he slumped back against the wall, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Fuck,” he murmured. 

Sirius was frozen. 

“FUCK!” The boy whirled, sweeping an arm across the kitchen counter and sending dirty dishes and Coco Puffs scattering across the floor. He threaded his hands through his white-blond hair, breathing hard, then kicked the wall—once, twice, three times, dry, heaving sobs shaking his frame as the plaster crumbled. 

And the sight broke Sirius out of whatever trance he had fallen into. “Stop it. Draco, stop it.” He grabbed at the boy’s shoulders, hauling him away from the mess of glass and plaster on the floor. 

_ “Don’t fucking touch me!”  _

Sirius lurched away. 

The boy was breathing hard. “Touch me again, and I’ll break your hands,” the boy growled. His words were low and deadly. 

So Sirius stood there, frozen, silent. Even as the boy’s shoulders heaved and his thin frame trembled. Even as tears coursed down his face. Because for once in his life, Sirius had no words. 

The boy gripped the counter in his shaking hands, leaning against it like it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

“How long?” Sirius muttered through numb lips. 

“I don’t fucking know!” Draco snapped. Then a shudder coursed through him, and he almost seemed to deflate. “Twelve changes, at least. Maybe thirteen.”

“And those scars?” Sirius asked. 

“I didn’t lie. Some of them are from my father—but when he hits me, he tries not to mark me where anyone can see.” Draco shook his head. “When I change, I… I lose control.” 

“So you did all of that to yourself?” 

Draco clenched his teeth but stayed silent. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Sirius ran a tired hand down his face. “How in the hell do I have two fucking werewolves on my hands? I didn’t sign up for this shit.” 

“That’s why you have to  _ let me go.”  _

Sirius snorted. “Fat chance.” 

“Are you listening to me? I’m a monster!” Draco roared. “Why the fuck would you want me around, huh? Huh?” 

“Pipe down with your shit, kid,” Sirius snapped. “You don’t fucking scare me. Ooh, you’re a big, bad, werewolf, are you? I’s not like I’ve been in love with one since I was twelve years old!” 

“That’s—” Draco started to protest, but the words died in his throat as what Sirius had said sunk in. “Wait. In love?” 

Sirius’s eyes grew as wide as saucers, and he clapped a hand over his mouth. 

Draco choked on a laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “That explains things. Why you’re so protective of him. Why you hate me so much.”

“I don’t hate you,” Sirius said, quieter than Draco had ever heard him. 

“You should.” 

“I don’t.” 

Draco clutched the edge of the countertop so hard his knuckles turned white. “You’re a fucking idiot.” 

Sirius chuckled. “That’s not news, kid.” 

Draco wasn’t sure if he was laughing or crying. 

“Looks like we’ve both spilled secrets today,” Sirius sighed. “Fuck. Of everyone to learn about my unrequited crush on my best friend, it has to be a teenage werewolf with an attitude problem.” 

Draco’s throat worked. “You can’t tell anyone,” he murmured. 

“Kid, that’s just silly.” Sirius shook his head. “If anyone would understand, it’s Remus. You should tell him.” 

“I can’t. I  _ can’t _ .” Draco was panting, running his hands through unruly blond hair and clutching it so hard it must’ve hurt. He was on the edge of another breakdown—Sirius could tell. “No one else can know, do you understand? No one.” 

“Hey, kid, calm down.” Sirius took a careful step forward, then another when the boy didn’t flinch away. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything you don’t want me to. Alright?” 

The boy’s chest was heaving, his hands wrapped around his throat like he couldn’t breath “B-but you said—”

“I think you should tell Remus, but it’s not my secret to share. Look at me, kid. Look at me.” He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, shaking him lightly until his grey eyes flew up to meet Sirius’s. “Your secret is safe with me. I promise.” 

The boy closed his eyes, tears spilling over his cheeks. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” From where Sirius had the kid by the shoulders, it was easy to pull him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Draco’s thin shoulders as they heaved with silent sobs. Draco was tense in his embrace, but the longer Sirius held him, the more he relaxed, until he was clutching onto Sirius’s shirt for dear life. 

“It hurts so badly,” Draco sobbed. “Every time I change. I can’t—can’t function—”

“I know,” Sirius said. He’d seen Remus go through it enough times. 

“I’m a m-monster—”

“You’re not,” Sirius soothed. “Not that. Never that.” 

Draco buried his head in Sirius’s shoulder. “I still dream about it—when he bit me. His jaws around my throat, and I was choking on blood, and fuck, I thought I was going to die.” 

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re not dead, Draco. You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

“S-safe,” the boy repeated, like he’d never heard the word before. 

Before he could think better of it, Sirius pulled Draco closer, holding him tighter against his chest. “Listen, kid. I can’t make all of the pain go away but on the full moon, I… I can help. I can make it better.” 

The boy went rigid in his arms. “What?” 

“I’ll bring you somewhere away from Tonks and Remus, and I’ll stay with you. I’ll help you, Draco.” His voice cracked. “You don’t have to bear this burden alone.” 

And at his words, whatever was left of Draco shattered. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I'm gonna be real with you—this chapter is shameless filler. Like, nothing relevant happens, it's just fluff. I needed another chapter before the full moon, so here it is, sorry that it's not more eventful!! But next week will be the full moon so prepare for shit to hit the fan :)))))))
> 
> Also, we're at over 9,000 hits now, and I just want to say to all of you that I'm so, so, incredibly grateful!! Thank you all for your kind words, too, they mean the world to me. 
> 
> And finally, I've started writing a second fic! If you're into angst, dad content, and My Hero Academia, go check it out—it's called Young Blood and I'm having a lot of fun with it so far. It's more casual than this one so I don't have an update schedule established yet, but I just posted the fourth chapter today!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Sorry again for the uneventful chapter.   
> (The calm before the storm...)
> 
> Much love,   
> Noelle

(Eight days before the full moon)

Draco didn’t feel any different when he woke up. He studied his hands—they looked the same. He looked down at his body, at his lanky limbs and batman pajamas, only to find that nothing much had changed. He got out of bed, stretching his arms over his head, and glanced in the mirror. 

He supposed he did look slightly different, given that the bags in his eyes had diminished somewhat. Sleep had come easier since he’d spilled his secret to Sirius. The man hadn’t judged him or scorned him, hadn’t called him an animal or beaten him senseless. If Draco didn’t know any better, the man almost seemed… concerned. And when Draco had collapsed into a sobbing, heaving mess in the man’s arms, he hadn’t lashed out, hadn’t pushed him away. Instead, Sirius had held him and stroked his hair and whispered soothing things into his ear. 

Draco winced at the memory. He didn’t think he was ever going to live down the embarrassment of crying in his enemy’s arms. 

But to Draco’s knowledge, Sirius had kept his promise and hadn’t told a soul. So if Draco looked different, it wasn’t because of his birthday, or because at seventeen, he had officially come of age. It was because, for once in his life, Draco felt… safe. 

_ Safe. _ He toyed with the word. It felt strange on his tongue.

Draco dressed quickly in jeans, a graphic tee, and the Weird Sisters hoodie that was quickly becoming a favorite of his, before starting down the stairs toward the kitchen. He could already hear hushed voices and the clanging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. Were Sirius and Tonks really up before him? Draco huffed under his breath. Maybe miracles really do come true. 

As soon as Draco opened the door to the kitchen, Tonks slammed into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and squealing in his ear. “Happy birthday! You’re an adult now, how exciting is that?” 

Draco froze in Tonks’s grip. “How did you…” 

“Sirius told us!” Tonks pulled back, “You didn’t think we’d let your seventeenth birthday pass by uncelebrated, did you?” 

Draco fidgeted uncertainly on his feet. He did sort of think that, yeah. Birthdays had never really been a big deal at his house—his mother bought cupcakes that Draco never ate, and his father never even remembered. He’d even lied to all his Hogwarts friends, telling them his birthday was on June 5 so they wouldn’t fuss over him—not that they likely would’ve, anyway. Tonks’s jubilant birthday greeting was probably the most his birthday had been celebrated in years, and he’d known her for less than a month. But it’s not like he could just  _ say _ that.

Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I just… um. I didn’t think you’d remember.” 

“Don’t be silly, Draco,” Lupin said, and for the first time, Draco’s eyes were pulled in his old teacher’s direction. And to say he audibly gasped at what he saw would be an understatement. 

Lupin was wearing a pink, frilly apron over his jumper and slacks, staring at the cake he was currently icing like it took all of his concentration. With his scarred face and somber expression, the getup looked that much more ridiculous. The cake itself was horrendously lopsided, listing so far to the left that Draco was almost certain it was going to topple over at any moment, and there was more frosting smeared across the countertop than there was on the cake itself. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked in alarm. 

“What does it look like?” Sirius grinned, swiping a finger across the frosting-covered countertop and sticking it in his mouth. “We’re baking you a cake.” 

Lupin scowled.  _ “I’m _ baking him a cake. You’re getting in the way.” 

Tonks slung an arm over Draco’s shoulder, leading him further into the kitchen. “Don’t mind them. They’ve been bickering all morning.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Remus takes things like this very seriously.” 

“Remus takes everything very seriously.” Sirius winked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him from being too much of a fun sponge.” 

“I’m not a  _ fun sponge,  _ I just have a certain way of doing things—”

“S’alright, mate, Draco doesn’t mind that your cake looks like shit—”

Remus tackled Sirius, smearing his face with chocolate frosting, and Draco didn’t think he’d ever seen such a ridiculous sight as a werewolf in an apron wrestling on the ground with a convicted murderer. 

When Draco spoke, his voice was hardly more than a whisper. “You guys… you guys didn’t have to do all of this for me.” 

“We didn’t  _ have _ to, but we wanted to. Parties are fun.” Tonks leaned her head on his shoulder. “Besides, it’s a big day, and we did sort of kidnap you. It wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t at least acknowledge how special today is.” 

Draco forced himself to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I’ve only been a burden to you—”

“Oh, hush up.” Tonks rolled her eyes. “You’ve made this place so much more interesting. Do you know how  _ boring _ it was to be stuck here with Remus and Sirius for company?” 

Remus paused in his wrestling match—his hand was currently pressing Sirius’s face to the ground—to look up at Draco. “You haven’t been a burden, Draco. I’ve quite enjoyed having you around. We did this because we wanted to.” 

Sirius managed to flip Remus over so that the other man was lying on his back, and Draco couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. 

He hadn’t been this happy in… well, Draco didn't remember ever being this happy. 

Nobody had ever done kind things for him “just because,” or bothered to throw him a party to make them smile. No one had ever even really liked him beyond how he could serve their purposes. 

But Tonks, Remus, and Sirius were different. There was a strange, chaotic sort of bond that connected them all, and they hadn’t even hesitated before accepting them into their lives. He’d only known them for a month, but still Draco wondered—he couldn’t  _ help _ but wonder—if this was how it felt to be part of a family. 

***

They ate cake for breakfast. It was chocolate, of course. It was also a bit dry, and the frosting was lumpy, and Remus had run out of space for the lettering at the top, and Draco thought it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. 

They’d even bought him presents—from Remus, a box-set of a fantasy series he thought Draco would enjoy; from Sirius, a wizard’s chess set with intricately carved pieces. Tonks had gone all-out, buying him a Weird Sisters poster, a fluffy, criminally soft navy-striped comforter for his bed, a bean bag chair, and a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars for Draco to stick to the ceiling. (If you’re going to be staying with us for awhile, you might as well update that old room.)

And Draco had no fucking idea what to say. 

There wasn’t anything  _ to _ say. He still didn’t understand why they were being so kind to him, what could’ve possibly possessed them to treat him better than his own family had. He had come here expecting to kill Remus Lupin, but instead of seeing a murderer, his old teacher had looked at Draco and seen something worth saving. 

So Draco thanked them, and he laughed, and he ate cake, and he played games, and he pretended not to notice the tears in Tonks’s eyes when she saw him smiling. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh. Sorry this is so late, but this HURTED to write. I imagine it will hurt to read as well. The angst is real, it's the full moon, the plot is picking up, and prepare for shit to go down. 
> 
> Anyways, are you following my tumblr? I post updates here, so you can see if a chapter is delayed for whatever reason. Also, I just love to chat! Feel free to ask me anything, because I'm bored as fuck. Questions about the fic? Ask them! Theories? I'd love to hear them! Wanna get to know me a bit better? Don't be shy, ask away! Basically, anything goes. I'd love to see you there!
> 
> (Edit: the link to my tumblr isn't working for some people, so my username is noelleification, and my pfp is a picture of Catra from She-Ra)
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much for reading, and let me know what you think in the comments >.<

(Four days before the full moon)

Draco sat in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place, staring into the fire and pondering the strange turn his life had taken. 

A month ago, he had proudly been a Malfoy and a Death Eater, besides. A month ago, he had regarded Remus as a monster, Sirius as a traitor, and Tonks as beneath his notice. 

But in only a month, things had changed. He had come to understand that Remus, despite his fangs, had one of the kindest hearts he had ever encountered. That Sirius, despite his rough exterior, was loyal to a fault. And that Tonks, despite her silliness, had a smile that managed to melt Draco’s icy heart. 

But Draco was loyal, too. He couldn’t just turn his back on his family, his home, his blood. 

He leaned back against the ragged couch with a sigh, running his scarred hands through lank blond hair. For the first time in a long time, pain didn’t flare when he moved. He was used to being bloody, beaten and bruised, used to hiding purple splotches beneath his clothes and hastily bandaging the scratches on his arms—but he wasn’t used to those same wounds being treated with care. He wasn’t used to being treated well enough that his bruises faded to little more than a memory. He wasn’t used to making snow angels and wearing Batman pajamas. He wasn’t used to eating his own birthday cake. He wasn’t used to feeling so… safe. 

It was an illusion—it had to be. People were only ever kind to him when they _wanted_ something from him. If Draco had learned one thing in his life, it was that he was broken. Defective. Unloveable. He knew not to trust sweet words and soft touches. He knew that it all turned to blood and pain eventually. It would hurt that much worse when the Order inevitably turned on him, because despite everything, he found himself starting to trust them. Even without the shield charm over his door, he slept more soundly here than he’d ever done at home, secure in the knowledge that no one was going to hurt him here.   
But at the same time, what was a month compared to seventeen years? Was the blood of the covenant really thicker than the water of the womb? Didn’t he owe some degree of loyalty to the mother who had birthed him, the father who had raised him, the Dark Lord to which he had sworn his allegiance? 

If he did this one thing right, would his father love him? 

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He had to betray either the family he was born into or the family he had found, and whatever he chose, he knew it would rip him wide open. The scars on his body would heal, but the scars on his soul would remain raw and bleeding until the day he died. 

Draco forced himself to take a breath. He had to think logically—take emotion out of it and evaluate what the best course of action was. Remus, Tonks, and Sirius had made him feel safe—they’d made him feel wanted—but he knew it was too good to be true. If he was being honest with himself, they probably only wanted him because he was a Death Eater, because they wanted the information he possessed. Someday, they would realize he was worthless to them. Worse, someday Draco would mess up, just like he always did, and their false kindness would evaporate—along with the promises of happiness and safety that Draco knew could never exist in his world. 

The memory of the Dark Lord’s voice echoed in his mind.  _ Have they treated you kindly, Draco? Do you think they have your best interests at heart? You are a fool if you believe it. They’re using you. And when you’re no longer of use to them, they’ll throw you away. _

If that happened—no,  _ when _ that happened—Draco would have nothing. No friends, no family, no place to belong. He would be an outcast, too dark for the light side, and too light for the dark. The Order wouldn’t want him anymore, and his family would kill him if they ever saw him again. 

But if he betrayed the Order—if he did what his father asked of him—they would welcome him back with open arms. In the days since Draco had spilled his secret, Sirius had told Draco exactly where he would take him for the full moon, meaning that for the first time, they would be without the protection of Grimmauld Place. Draco could do it—he could catch the blood traitor Sirius Black. His father would be proud, and Draco… Draco would be celebrated. Rewarded. 

If he was lucky, he might even be loved. 

There was only one course of action, one way forward. In the end, was it even really a choice? 

_ You have until the full moon to kill Remus Lupin. If you fail, you will die.  _

Draco needed to contact his father. 

***

Kreature the House Elf had seen many people come and go from 12, Grimmauld place. He had seen people live and die, love and lose. Now, he was old, and nothing really surprised him anymore—not even when the blond haired boy approached him with a letter clutched in his fist. 

Blood traitor. Filth. The Malfoy boy had turned his back on his family and his kind, just like the new master of this house. Master Regulus never would’ve done something so awful. Master Regulus knew what loyalty was. 

“Who’s Regulus?” the Malfoy boy asked, tilting his head to the side. 

Kreature realized he must’ve been speaking aloud again. Still, it was strange that Master Sirius hadn’t mentioned Master Regulus. The Malfoy boy looked like him, yes he did, and Kreature saw how often Master Sirius went into the bedroom that had long been abandoned. Master Sirius must not like the boy very much. Yes, that must be it. 

The boy’s face darkened. “I have a task for you,” he muttered. 

The Malfoy boy had a task for Kreature? Kreature didn’t want to do a task for the blood traitor. Kreature knew what loyalty meant—loyalty to the family he had served for generations, the masters who had come and gone, all serving the same purpose. Loyalty to the Dark Lord who would rise again. Master Sirius wasn’t loyal, not like Master Regulus was. 

“You can get out of the house, can’t you?” the Malfoy boy asked. He looked down at his feet, fiddling with the parchment he clutched between scarred hands. 

Of course Kreature could get out of the house. Kreature could go where he wished—not that it did him much good. Master Sirius never sent him on good missions. Master Sirius had forbid him from directly helping the Dark Lord. Master Sirius should be ashamed of himself. 

The Malfoy boy crouched down in front of Kreature, pressing the parchment into his hands. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I need you to bring this to Lucius Malfoy,” he said. 

Why would Kreature do what the Malfoy boy asked? The Malfoy boy was a blood traitor. Kreature was loyal. 

“I’m loyal, too. Give it to my father—he’ll know what to do.” 

Kreature looked down in awe at the parchment clutched in his hands. The Malfoy boy wasn’t a blood traitor, after all? The Malfoy boy had gained Master Sirius’s trust—but did his heart lie with the Dark Lord? 

“Yes,” the Malfoy boy replied to Kreature’s murmured ramblings. “It does.” 

Kreature couldn’t directly help the Dark Lord—but if he was following an order from a friend of his master’s, he couldn’t be blamed. He snatched the letter from the Malfoy boy’s hands and clutched it to the dirty, stained pillowcase that served as his shirt. 

Without another word, Kreature disappeared in a puff of smoke. 

***

(The Day of the Full Moon)

The boy was in a mood again. 

Sirius supposed it was to be expected—he had seen Remus change enough times to comprehend just how awful the experience was, and he imagined it would only be worse for a young, traumatized werewolf—but nevertheless, he took note. The boy’s face was sunken, his shoulders were slumped, and he wouldn’t quite look Sirius in the eye. 

When Sirius rested a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, Draco flinched. His brow pinched in concern. “Hey, kid—you alright?” 

“Fine,” Draco bit out.

Sirius squeezed the boy’s shoulder lightly. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. 

“And how the fuck would you know?” 

Sirius frowned. Draco was always prickly, but he’d become easier to manage over the past few weeks as he eased into the routine of life in Grimmauld Place. The venom in his voice was more vicious, more biting, than it had been in a while. 

“I know because I’ve seen it,” Sirius said, stepping away from the boy. Was it his proximity that had the boy so on edge, lashing out like a cornered animal? “I’ve helped Remus through the change dozens of times, and no matter how bad it gets, it always ends eventually. You’ll be fine, Draco.” 

The boy’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Let’s just go.” 

Biting his lip, Sirius led Draco out into the snow. 

Remus hadn’t asked questions when Sirius told him he’d be spending the full moon with Draco. Sirius had apologized over and over, making up lies and excuses—the boy was frightened, he wanted to get away during the full moon, he’d never been around a werewolf before, he needed time to adjust. But Sirius hadn’t done much to sell the lie. After all, Remus already saw himself as a monster, and Sirius knew that the idea of the boy fearing him would only add fuel to the fire. 

Besides, Sirius saw it in Remus’s eyes—he was putting the pieces together. The scars, the boy’s absence during the full moon, the way he constantly called himself a monster. Remus was smart enough to understand, or at least suspect. It hung unspoken between them: Sirius would respect the boy’s privacy and Remus wouldn’t push, and when Sirius disappeared at Remus’s most vulnerable, Remus would know he was helping someone who needed him more. 

Their boots crunched in the snow as Sirius led Draco away from Grimmauld Place. It was twilight; the blue sky was fading into indigo, stars just starting to peek through the inky darkness, but the moon had yet to rise. They had to hurry if they were to make it to their destination before the moon rose. 

Even Grimmauld Place looked beautiful in the fresh snow. Everything was white, and in the starlight, it gleamed silver. The Christmas lights in the trees glowed, casting a soft yellow over the untouched snow. 

Sirius turned to Draco. “Are you ready?” 

In the darkness of twilight, the boy’s face was cast in shadow. He hesitated for only a moment before responding, “I’m ready.” 

Sirius offered his arm, and Draco took it. With a final look into Draco’s dark eyes, Sirius stepped backwards into shadow and mist, pulling Draco along with him. 

The sensation of being squeezed through a curiously long tube, nausea coiling in the pit of his stomach, and then… 

The Shrieking Shack was just as Sirius remembered it. He stared up at the dilapidated building, the boarded windows, the creaking floors. He’d spent so many good times here—so many awful times, too. 

Sirius drew a deep breath into his lungs. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go inside.” 

Draco looked doubtful as he studied the old building, listing dangerously to one side. “You’re sure it’s safe?” 

“Dumbledore commissioned it—it’s reinforced to withstand a werewolf’s strength,” Sirius said. “Once I seal the wards, there’s no way you’re getting out.” 

Draco frowned. “You’ll be trapped inside with me.” 

“You won’t hurt me. When I’m a dog, you’ll recognize me as a friend, not a foe.” Sirius released Draco’s forearm, venturing through the old, creaking doorway and setting foot in the Shrieking Shack for the first time since he had escaped from Azkaban. Draco followed curiously behind him. 

Sirius couldn’t help it: he hated this place. The scratches along the walls, the bloodstains, the dusty floors and ruined furniture. They reminded him of a time when Remus was in pain, when Sirius couldn’t help him—a time when his only escape was this dark house and his only release was ruining his own body. Sirius knew every one of Remus’s scars. He’d counted them over and over again, run his fingers over them, studied them, drawn them. Dreamed of pressing his lips against them. Some, he received in that initial attack when he was four years old—but most, he’d given himself, inside this very house. 

Sirius swallowed down the choking sense of failure that swarmed him as soon as he saw the blood on the walls. “Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to be here for awhile.” 

Draco studied the interior of the wrecked house. “This is where Remus used to come for the change?” 

“Yes—back while we were still at Hogwarts.” Sirius turned, pressing his hand against a groove in the doorway and muttering words low under his breath. Blue light rippled over the walls, then disappeared as quickly as it had come—wards, keeping Sirius and Draco inside the house until morning light. 

Draco wandered deeper into the house, turning the corner into what had once been the living room. Now, the couch was shredded, stuffing flung all across the floor. An armchair was tipped over, and one of the legs looked like it had been chewed by huge jaws. “You should chain me up,” Draco murmured. “The moon is rising—I can feel it.” 

“I’m not going to chain you,” Sirius said. “As long as you’re here, you can’t escape, and as long as I’m in my animal form, you won’t hurt me.” 

“Then you should change into your animal form.”

“I will.” Sirius looked around once again, lost in thought. “But not yet.” 

Draco’s throat worked. He sank to the ground, settling against the far wall of the living room, apparently having decided that this room was as good as any. He curled into a ball, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in his hands. 

Sirius trailed after him, settling down by the boy’s side. They sat in silence for long moments, neither of them speaking, content to be in one another's company. 

“I’ve never done this with someone else around before,” Draco said. “I’ve always been alone.” 

Sirius turned his head. In the darkness of the Shrieking Shack, Draco was little more than a silhouette—but from his stiff posture and hunched shoulders, Sirius could see exactly how afraid the boy was. He wanted to reach out, wrap his arms around Draco, comfort him, hold him. Still, with the way the boy flinched whenever Sirius moved too fast, he doubted the boy would take kindly to it. 

Sirius had been there before. It took him months after coming to Hogwarts to grow comfortable enough to let James ruffle his hair or let Remus touch his face. He wouldn’t rush Draco—they’d have time, he told himself. Once Draco learned to trust him, truly trust him, he could comfort the boy the way he longed to. 

“You shouldn’t have to bear this alone,” Sirius said. 

Draco bit his lip. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

The boy let out a breath. “Who’s Regulus?” 

Sirius felt himself stiffen. He forced himself to relax, even as his mind started screaming and his heart started racing. He didn’t want to talk about Regulus—not right now. Not with the boy who so reminded him of his brother. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked instead of answering. 

“The house elf,” Draco admitted. “I heard him mumbling…”

Sirius cursed Kreacher under his breath. That goddamn elf only ever caused problems for him. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Draco mumbled, resting his head on his knees. “I was just curious.”

For a moment, Sirius was quiet. When he spoke again, low and soft, Draco started like he hadn’t been expecting an answer at all. “Regulus is my brother,” he murmured, then caught himself. “Was. Regulus  _ was _ my brother.” 

“Oh.” Draco’s eyes widened in understanding. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry—”

“No, it’s okay.” Sirius shook his head. “I don’t talk about him—I don’t  _ like _ talking about him—but it’s not a secret. He died when he was just a little older than you. I loved him very much, and that kind of love… it doesn’t just go away. I think it will always hurt,” Sirius said, laying a hand over his heart. Then, almost to himself: “That doesn’t mean he’s not worth remembering.” 

Draco hesitated. “You were… close?” 

“For a time.” Sirius shrugged. “The way we were raised… it was difficult. My parents were Death Eaters, and they weren’t gentle people. I took the worst of their abuse so that my brother wouldn’t have to.” He let out a long, unsteady breath. “But I think, in the end, it was because I tried so hard to protect my brother that he met the end he did. Eventually, I got fed up and left. Regulus didn’t.” 

Draco worried on his lower lip. “He was a Death Eater.” 

Sirius nodded. “I don’t know exactly how he died—my mother wouldn’t tell me. But I know that Voldemort had something to do with it.” 

Draco’s voice was quiet. “I’m sorry.” 

“It was a long time ago.” Sirius closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. “You look like him, you know. You have his eyes.” 

At his side, Draco stiffened. “What?” 

“That’s why I didn’t like you at first. You reminded me too much of the brother I lost.” Sirius swallowed down the lump in his throat. “And that’s why… that’s why I want to help you now. Because I couldn’t protect my brother. But maybe I can protect you.”

Draco was silent for so long that Sirius almost thought he wouldn’t respond. He opened his eyes, looking over at the pale boy. 

Draco’s face was etched in something like horror. He wouldn’t meet Sirius’s gaze. “You really do want to help me,” he whispered. 

“Of course I do.” Sirius furrowed his brow. “What did you…”

Draco’s face shuttered. “I think you should go.” 

Sirius frowned. “I’m not going to hurt you, Draco.”

Draco’s expression was cold and hard—but when he met Sirius’s eyes, there was torment in them. “What if I hurt you?” 

“I told you, you won’t hurt me as long as I’m a dog—” 

“Sirius… I think I made a mistake.” Draco’s grey eyes were wide and terrified. 

“Draco—”

The boy doubled over, wheezing. He clutched at his stomach, gritting his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut. 

The moon was rising. 

“Sirius, you need to go,” Draco demanded. 

Sirius shook his head. “I’m not leaving you like this.” 

“I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself—

“When we found you, you were half-dead, I’m not letting that happen again—”

“Please, just go!” Draco’s fingers dove towards his arm and he started scratching hard against the scarred skin.

“Draco, stop it.” Sirius grabbed his wrists, forcing his hands away from his forearms. 

Draco flinched away from him. “I can’t stop. It itches.”

“Yes, you can.” He rubbed soothing circles into the back of Draco’s hand with his thumb. “You’re going to be okay, Draco. Look at me.” 

The boy’s eyes met his. To Sirius’s horror, they were filled with tears. 

Something snapped, and an ear-shattering scream was wrenched from Draco’s throat. He writhed, falling to the ground and fighting against Sirius’s hold. 

“Shhh,” Sirius soothed. “It’s okay, Draco. I’m right here.” 

“You need to go—” Draco screamed again, back arching as the sound of crunching bone echoed through the room. 

Bone moved under Draco’s skin, shifting and sliding before Sirius’s eyes. It was grotesque, the way bone snapped and rearranged. White fur sprouted along the boy’s arms, bursting through his pale skin as claws tore through his fingers. Draco started to thrash, screaming so loud his voice went hoarse. 

Sirius pulled the boy into his arms, rocking him gently back and forth. He tucked Draco’s face into his chest, petting his hair softly and murmuring under his breath. “Shh, Draco, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Sirius closed his eyes. He could feel bone popping under his hands, could feel Draco’s body ripping and tearing as it reformed. The boy’s back arched, his eyes bugging out of his skull, mouth open in a silent scream. 

And oh, Sirius wanted so badly to take it all away—he would’ve taken the pain upon himself if it meant Draco would be okay—but he couldn’t. All he could do was hold Draco and soothe him. As his bones broke and reformed, at least he wouldn’t be alone. 

And then Sirius couldn’t even hold Draco. As the pain in his eyes turned to bloodlust and his face became more animal than human, Sirius knew it was time. He eased Draco’s body onto the ground as gently as he could, brushing the boy’s hair back from his half-formed face. He morphed easily into a dog, but it wasn’t over for Draco, not yet. 

As soon as Sirius released him, Draco started writhing, clawing at his own body, digging nails into skin in a desperate attempt to kill the thing that was hurting him—which, at the moment, was himself. The sharp, metallic scent of blood filled the room, so much stronger now that Sirius was in his second form. All Sirius could do was watch as the change consumed Draco. 

When it was all over, a huge, white wolf lay panting on the ground, grey eyes glazed with pain and panic. He whined, covering his snout with a paw. 

Sirius padded up to him on silent feet, nudging the wolf with his nose. He settled by Draco’s side and started to lick the blood staining his snowy fur scarlet. The wolf whined again, rolling onto his side. 

The change was over, but Draco still looked frightened. His grey eyes were wide as he stared at Sirius, silently begging him to leave. 

But Sirius  _ couldn’t _ leave, not after what he’d just seen. He made a promise to Draco, and he would keep it. 

A blast shook the building, so strong that Sirius thought for a split second that the building was going to collapse. His ears perked up, and he stood up on four legs, looking towards the boarded window. 

There was something outside—something  _ moving. _ The blast came again, deafeningly loud and unmistakable. The white wolf whined. 

Someone was trying to break the wards. 

They couldn’t escape, not unless Sirius disabled the wards, which he could only do in his human form. The second he transformed, Draco would attack him, and then the wolf would be left to deal with whatever this was alone. They were trapped. 

Sirius padded over to Draco, settling himself resolutely between the wolf and the door and barring his teeth. Draco was still too dazed to stand, and if somebody was here for them, Sirius wasn’t going down without a fight. 

With a sound like breaking glass, the wards shattered. 

The door slammed open, and the halls flooded with black-clad figures in skull masks. They were familiar—eerily, painfully so, a sight that Sirius had seen too many times and had no desire to encounter again. 

Death Eaters. Death Eaters were here. 

The second the wards broke, Draco’s eyes glazed with unmistakable bloodlust. He stirred, lips pulling back from his teeth at the scent of human flesh—but his legs buckled underneath him. The night was still young, and his wolf was still weak. Too weak to defend himself, too weak to do much more than snarl and spit and growl. 

“Take out the wolf first,” someone snapped. “The dog isn’t a threat.” 

“Where’s Black?” 

“According to the boy, he’s an animagus. Bring the dog.” 

Sirius backed up, snarling as the Death Eaters advanced upon him. 

One of them drew a wand, firing a stunning spell into Draco’s side. The wolf yelped—but in this form, the spell wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Another wizard fired another shot, then another. 

Sirius launched himself at the closest wizard, instinct forcing him to act before his mind could catch up. They were hurting Draco—they were  _ hurting _ him, someone Sirius had sworn to protect, a boy who had already been through too much in his seventeen years. He couldn’t let them get away with it. He couldn’t. The sound of Draco’s high, pained yelps behind him only fueled his fury. 

A curse hit Sirius in the chest. He tumbled to the floor, skidding across the wood planks as his body went limp. The last thing he heard was Lucius Malfoy’s voice before everything went black. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This is a pretty quick turnaround from the last update, but I know the last chapter left off on a big cliffhanger, so I wanted to get this one out quickly. 
> 
> This chapter got pretty dark. I’ve changed the rating for this fic to mature, and I’ve updated the tags to include torture and aftermath of torture. Pretty big trigger warning for this chapter. It’s not overly graphic, but there’s definitely some dark implications, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Proceed at your own risk. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading this chapter!! I'd love to hear what you think in the comments, or come yell at me on tumblr @noelleification. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Noelle

It was cold in the basement of Malfoy Manor. 

When Draco awoke, naked and chained to the wall, he thought for a split second that it might’ve all been a dream—that the last month hadn’t really happened at all, and his mother would come free him from his shackles, and his father would look at him with those icy eyes, and everything would be awful once again. But still, Draco couldn’t help but hope the past month had all been inside his head. Because if it wasn’t a dream, Draco had done something he wasn’t sure if he could live with. 

The Dark Lord’s voice rang through his memory, high and cold.  _ Have they treated you kindly, Draco? Do you think they have your best interests at heart? You are a fool if you believe it. They’re using you. And when you’re no longer of use to them, they’ll throw you away. _

And Draco wanted to believe it. Everything inside of him  _ screamed _ that of course they didn’t care about him, of course they were  _ using _ him, just like everybody else did. And if Draco could believe that, then maybe the guilt that festered in his chest would shrink. 

_ That’s why I want to help you now. Because I couldn’t protect my brother. But maybe I can protect you. _

Draco closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Either Sirius was a superb actor, or… or some part of him really  _ did _ want to help Draco. Somehow, that idea hurt worse than the Cruciatus Curse. Draco wanted to think that the world was cruel, because that meant Draco was only as horrible as everyone else. But if, by some miracle, he’d managed to find some light among the shadows, only to stamp it out…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think on that. 

The cell door slammed open, and Lucius Malfoy strode inside. The moment Draco caught sight of him, his heart seized in his chest. Because Lucius looked different—the sort of different that told Draco a month really  _ had _ passed, and his time at Grimmauld Place had been  _ real _ . He was cleaner, he stood taller. His face was gaunt, but his blond hair was smooth and combed, and his cold eyes weren’t clouded by the haze of liquor as he gazed down at Draco. “You didn’t do what I asked of you,” his father said coldly. 

At the sound of that voice, everything inside Draco froze over. 

“I did what you couldn’t,” Draco said. 

Lucius’s hand whipped across Draco’s face, faster than the boy could react. He reeled away, clutching his stinging cheek, tears burning at his eyes. Over the last month, he had started to relax, started to forget what it was like to live without the looming threat of constant fear—but it all came rushing back in an instant. 

The man before him would not hesitate to hurt him. He might even take pleasure in doing so. 

When Lucius spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “Don’t talk back to me, boy.” 

And oh, if the Order’s kind words had been a lie, at least it had been a beautiful one. Maybe the beautiful lie was better than the cold, ugly truth. Because here it was, laid plain: even after everything, his father couldn’t stand the sight of him. 

_ Draco, I’m not Lucius Malfoy _ , Remus had said. 

_ I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. _

Safety—what a lovely dream. A lovely, unreachable dream. 

“The Dark Lord told you that he wanted Remus Lupin dead by the full moon,” Lucius growled. “You have returned, and yet Remus Lupin is still alive. Tell me why the Dark Lord shouldn’t kill you.” 

Draco’s heart lurched. “I brought you Sirius Black—”

“You brought us a useless blood traitor.” Lucius started to pace, running pale, slender fingers through his hair. “Sirius Black is of little interest to us. So why, Draco, should we spare you instead of killing you both and being done with it?”

Draco’s throat worked. “Kill us… both?” 

Lucius whirled, crouching down in front of Draco so that their faces were nearly touching. “Black is useless. You are useless. As far as the Dark Lord is concerned, neither of you are worth the resources required to sustain you.” 

Draco choked. Kill him—they were going to kill him. He’d turned his back on Tonks and Sirius and Remus, given up everything in the hopes that maybe his father would welcome him back with open arms—but he was a fool. Of course this wouldn’t change anything. Of course Draco wasn’t good enough. He never was. 

But it wasn’t just his life on the line this time. They were going to kill Sirius, too, and it was all Draco’s fault. 

He needed a plan. He needed to buy them time. He needed to come up with some way to  _ fix this _ after he’d ruined everything so badly. 

But the only way forward, it seemed, was to dig himself deeper into this hole. 

“If you want to find Lupin, you need Black,” Draco said. “They’re in love. If you threaten to hurt Black, Lupin will come running.”

The words tasted bitter in his mouth. They felt  _ wrong. _ If he knew the Death Eaters, they’d hurt Sirius to draw Remus out—and if he knew Remus, he wouldn’t leave his friend behind. 

But if Draco had said nothing, both he and Sirius would be dead. This was the only way. 

Lucius’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so.” He tapped his chin with one pale, spindly finger. “Maybe you’ll both have your uses, after all.” 

Draco flinched as Lucius reached for him—but his father was simply undoing the shackles around his wrists, “Clean yourself up. When you’re ready, come upstairs. We have questions for you.” 

Lucius stood, striding across the stone floors in his familiar ambling, uneven gait. He left without another word. 

Draco pulled his knees to his chest. 

_ Remus. What do you do when you have to make a choice? A bad one? _

_ I guess you choose whatever you can live with. _

Draco curled his hands into fists. It was too late for that—Draco had just traded his last chance at redemption for his father’s cold indifference, and he knew in his heart that he had chosen wrong. 

***

Through the haze of pain and terror, Sirius was just lucid enough to recognize that this situation was not ideal. 

He was suspended from the ceiling, the entirety of his body weight hanging from the ropes around his wrists. Blood was already dripping down his forearms from where the ropes dug in, and his shoulders were practically being wrenched out of his sockets. 

Sirius’s teeth clenched. He knew it would only get worse from here. He would be tortured, and then he would be killed, and he would never see Remus again. He would never see his shy, timid smile or hear his laugh. He would never touch his scars again or breathe in his scent—citrus and parchment and ink. 

He would never have the chance to tell him that he loved him. 

And then there was the kid, back with the Death Eaters, stuck in the same house as the father who had given him those scars. The same man who had put those shadows in his eyes, the same man who had beaten him until he couldn’t move. That man was the reason that Draco woke up screaming, the reason he flinched whenever Sirius moved too fast. And still, Draco Malfoy was so broken, so afraid, that he felt the need to run back to the man who had shattered him. 

Sirius wasn’t an idiot. He knew who had betrayed him, he knew whose fault it was that he was strung up like this, awaiting torture and, eventually, death. But he couldn’t find him within himself to be angry. Draco was a frightened child doing his best to survive in a world that had hurt him over and over again, and in the end, Sirius couldn’t begrudge him that. 

Sirius didn’t want to die angry. 

The door to his cell opened. Bellatrix Lestrange was standing in the doorway, a sadistic smile spread across her thin lips. Her dark hair was matted, framing a gaunt, skull-like face with heavy-lidded, sunken eyes that twinkled in cruel amusement. Where her mouth was parted, Sirius could see swollen gums and rotting teeth; her dark robes hung off a skeletal frame. 

She crept closer to him, moving across the stone floor with the slow, halting steps of a drunkard—or a mad woman. When she was near enough to touch him, she reached out, running an icy cold finger down his bare, bruised chest. 

“Hello, cousin,” Bellatrix cooed. Sirius could smell the rot on her breath. 

Sirius stiffened. “Bella.” His voice was a dry, throaty croak—the thirst was getting to him. 

“This is a surprise,” Bellatrix said, studying him with wide, unblinking eyes. “I admit that I wasn’t expecting young Draco to return with you in tow, but I’m very pleased that he has. We’ll have plenty of fun together.”

Sirius suspected that he wouldn’t quite enjoy Bellatrix’s idea of fun. “Are you going to kill me, Bella?” he asked. His stomach roiled, but he wouldn’t let himself be sick. 

“No!” Bella pouted, then seemed to reconsider. “Well. Not yet. You’re no good to us dead.” 

“I’m no good to you alive, either.”

Bellatrix cackled, mouth opening wide to reveal the nubs of her rotted teeth. Another wave of putrid breath washed over Sirius’s face; he wrinkled his nose. “Oh, cousin, don’t make me laugh.” 

“I won’t tell you anything,” Sirius spat. His numb fingers twitched. “I’ll die before I give up the Order—you know I will.” 

Bellatrix tutted. “Would they really let you die for them, cousin?” 

Sirius’s throat bobbed. “Yes,” he lied. 

“The boy says otherwise,” Bellatrix said in a sing-song voice. She trailed a long, splintered nail down his cheek. “He says that Remus Lupin is in love with you.” 

Sirius’s heart plummeted. 

No, not Remus. They couldn’t have Remus. It was alright if Sirius died—his number was up a long time ago, and he’d been living on borrowed time ever since. To be honest, he never thought he’d make it this far. If this was it, if his time was up… well, it wasn’t how he’d choose to go, and he wished he could’ve at least said goodbye. But he’d met his godson, he’d seen Remus again, he’d sat outside in the fresh air and felt the sun on his face—things that, for twelve long years, he never thought he’d get to do. The thought of death didn’t frighten him much anymore; he’d made his peace with it a long time ago. 

But if Remus died? If Sirius had to see Remus hurt and bleeding, if he had to hear Remus’s screams, if he had to see the light fade from Remus’s eyes forever? Sirius couldn’t live with that. 

“He won’t come for me,” Sirius blurted. “Kill me, torture me if you must—but don’t drag Remus into this.” 

“Aww, look at you,” Bellatrix said. The corners of her lips twitched into a smile. “Even now you’re trying to protect him. Don’t worry, cousin—you won’t have to live without him for long.” 

Sirius’s breath caught in his throat. He felt his chest cracking in two, like Bellatrix had taken a blade to his body and cleaved his heart in half. “Bella,” he begged. “Don’t do this.” 

Bellatrix pulled a long, silver knife from inside her robes. “You know, I’ve tortured a lot of people,” she said, in the same tone someone might use to discuss the weather. “I’ve made them hurt so badly that they lost their minds. But after a while, the Cruciatus Curse becomes boring.” She pressed the edge of the knife to his cheek, applying just enough pressure that the blade sank into his skin. Sirius hissed at the sting; a warm trickle of blood dripped down his cheek. “After all, it’s no fun if I can’t see you bleed.” 

Sirius’s heart galloped in his chest. He forced himself to breathe, even as Bellatrix’s knife drifted lower, drawing a line of pain from his cheek to his jaw. “I already told you—I’m not going to give you anything. You might as well just kill me now.”

Bellatrix’s eyes flickered up to meet his, and there was nothing but madness behind her black gaze. “I’m not going to torture you for information, cousin,” she cooed, pressing the knife in deeper. She leaned in close, her breath brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I’m going to torture you because it’s  _ fun.”  _

The blade flashed. Blood spurted, hot and wet, and Sirius screamed until he could scream no more. 

***

Everything ached. 

Last night had been particularly brutal without Sirius by his side—not that Remus blamed him, of course. He knew Sirius wouldn’t leave him without a good reason. 

And, to Remus, that good reason was starting to come to light. 

From the first moment Remus had seen Draco’s scars, he knew they bore a striking resemblance to his own. The gashes on his arms, the claw marks on his chest, the teeth around his throat… there were very few creatures who would leave those marks, even in the wizarding world. He’d pushed the thought away, because there was no way Lucius Malfoy’s son was a werewolf.

Then there were his little smirks, his self-deprecating smiles, like he was making fun of himself silently. Like he knew an inside joke that no one else was privy to. 

Memories of a wry, humorless smile.  _ I suppose being a werewolf would give you quite a few scars, wouldn’t it? _

Sirius taking the boy away during the full moon was only the latest piece of evidence that Remus had been too thick to string together until last night. There was about an eighty percent chance that Draco Malfoy was a werewolf, and Sirius hadn’t even tried to convince him otherwise. 

Remus tried not to feel hurt that Draco had told Sirius, of all people, before him. 

Tonks looked up from where she was pacing in front of the fire, worrying on her thumbnail. “They should be back by now.” 

“They probably got sidetracked,” Remus said vaguely, trying his best to stay calm. It was already evening, and Draco and Sirius had yet to return—but Remus had seen firsthand how exhausting the change was. 

Not that Tonks would know the real reason it was taking them so long to return. She was still operating under the illusion that Draco simply didn’t want to be in the house with a werewolf during the full moon. 

“The sun rose hours ago,” Tonks fired back. “Your change is long over.” 

Remus sighed, running a hand down his face. “If they’re not back by morning, we’ll go looking for them.” 

Tonks stopped pacing, stamping her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “Why can’t we look for them  _ now?”  _

Remus was silent. He didn’t have an answer—not one that he could give Tonks, at least. He was worried, too, and he didn’t think he’d be able to put his mind at ease until he saw Sirius and Draco again, until he could see for himself that they were safe and sound. Every protective instinct inside him was demanding that he hunt them down and drag them back to where he could protect them. The animalistic urge was even stronger this close to the full moon. 

But Remus was not an animal, and he could—he  _ would _ —control his instincts. Draco was keeping his secret from Remus for a reason, and Remus would respect that. Until there was reason to worry, he’d give Draco as much privacy as he could and trust Sirius to keep them both safe. 

Draco might never trust Remus again if he stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. 

There was a knock at the door. Tonks’s head snapped towards it, hope flashing through her eyes. “That must be them.” She pushed past Remus, making for the entryway. 

Remus reached out, grabbing her wrist. He stared at the door with narrowed eyes. “Sirius wouldn’t knock on the door.” 

Tonks bit her lip. “Then it’s probably another member of the Order.” 

Their eyes locked. The third possibility hung unspoken between them, heavy with grim promise:  _ or maybe the worst had happened, and someone had told the Death Eaters where to find Grimmauld Place. _ They wouldn’t be able to get in without permission, not after the special protections the Order had put in place, but if their position was compromised, they’d have to move. 

Worse, if their position was compromised, it meant someone on the inside had betrayed them. 

Tonks’s throat bobbed. “I’ll look through the peephole before I open the door.” 

Remus nodded, releasing Tonks from his iron grasp. 

The tension in the air was palpable as Tonks walked towards the door, thick enough that Remus was choking on it. His heart was thundering in his chest—he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

For long moments, Tonks kept her eyes pressed to the peephole. When she turned to look back at Remus, there was a crease between her brows. “There’s no one there.” 

Remus caught his lower lip between his teeth. “Open it,” he said, wrapping his fingers around the wand hidden in his robes. 

Tonks reached for the doorknob, pulling it open with agonizing slowness. For a moment, she was silent. 

Then she started screaming. 

Remus started forward, pushing past her until he stood in the doorway. He looked around frantically, drawing his wand and pointing it outward, but finding only empty air. His gaze dropped. 

It was then that he saw it: there was something on the doorstep, shrouded in bloody cloth. 

Remus’s breath caught in his throat. He knelt, tuning out the sound of Tonks shaking and sobbing behind him, reaching out to unfold the cloth and unearth whatever horrors lay beneath it. When he saw what had been left, he turned to the side and retched on the cold pavement. Sour bile burned his tongue. 

It was a bloody finger, wrapped in linen, and a message scrawled in blood:  _ Come to the Shrieking Shack at midnight in three days time, or the next thing he loses is his head.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of parallels to the first and second chapter, did you pick up on them? xD 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, the next chapter should be out within the next couple of days :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GIRL—REMEMBER IN CHAPTER ONE WHEN I WAS SO EXCITED ABOUT 65 HITS? YEAH, WELL WE JUST BLEW PAST 15,000, AND I COULDN'T BE MORE GRATEFUL. 
> 
> TO EVERYONE WHO HAS READ THIS FIC, FOLLOWED THIS FIC, LEFT KUDOS AND COMMENTS, ETC, YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING AMAZING. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT, YOUR KIND WORDS, YOUR LOVE, ALL OF IT—I NEVER THOUGHT WE'D MAKE IT THIS FAR, BUT HERE WE ARE. YOU'RE ALL BEAUTIFUL SOULS AND I LOVE YOU DEARLY <3 <3 <3 
> 
> PLEASE TAKE THIS CHAPTER AS MY THANK YOU!!

It took Draco thirty-three minutes of standing silently outside the door for him to muster up the courage to see Sirius. As soon as he walked inside, he immediately wished he hadn’t. 

Sirius was a mess. His dark hair hung in dirty, sweat-soaked strands over his face, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. Purpling bruises swirled over his face and torso, mottled blotches of pain covering his body, so thick that Draco could hardly see the natural color of his skin underneath them. The Azkaban prison tattoos on his chest and arms were practically shredded. The way he was strung up had his shoulders twisted unnaturally in their sockets; the ropes cut into his wrists, sending blood dripping down his forearms and matting in his dark hair.

Draco’s stomach roiled, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from throwing up.  _ Sirius was missing a finger.  _

Sirius raised his head with agonizing slowness, meeting Draco’s gaze with his good eye. He was silent for so long that Draco almost thought he wasn’t going to say anything. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and hoarse from screaming. “Hey, kid,” he croaked. 

Draco was going to be sick. He had done this. He had betrayed someone who only ever tried to help him, and now Sirius had been tortured, and it was all Draco’s fault.

Draco drew in a shuddering breath. “That’s all you have to say to me?” 

Sirius’s good eye fluttered shut, and his chin lolled against his chest. He looked too exhausted to keep his head up. “Am I supposed to say something else?” 

“You’re supposed to be angry with me!” Draco said, hands curling into fists. “I did this to you. Don’t you even care?” 

Sirius choked out a noise that sounded almost like a laugh. “Listen, kid, I’d be happy to scold you more soundly when I’m not bleeding out.” 

Draco could only gape at Sirius’s broken form. He didn’t understand—he was a traitor, a werewolf, a bloody Death Eater, and still Sirius didn’t condemn him. Still Sirius called him ‘kid’ and laughed at him and… and  _ joked _ with him, as if he wasn’t strung from the ceiling awaiting torture and death. 

“You should’ve run away,” Draco choked. “I told you to run away, but you didn’t.” 

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Sirius squinted at him with bloodshot eyes. “They threatened you, didn’t they? That’s why you turned me in.” 

Draco’s throat worked, but he said nothing. 

Sirius studied his face. “So why would you warn me? They would’ve hurt you if they showed up and I was gone, but you told me to leave anyway. What changed your mind?” 

Draco ducked his head, but said nothing. He started forward, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle he held in a white-knuckled grip and holding it to Sirius’s dry, cracked lips. “Here,” he said. “Drink it.” 

Sirius’s good eye narrowed. “Does your father know you’re here?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Draco pressed the bottle against Sirius’s lips, tipping it back into his mouth. Sirius gulped down a sip greedily before Draco pulled it away. “Not too fast, or you’ll be sick.” 

Sirius’s head lolled. “Why are you helping me, Draco?” 

Draco shivered. Sirius never called him Draco—Malfoy or kid, but never Draco. Hearing his name from the man’s lips, without a hint of anger or resentment, made everything seem so much more real.

He forced himself to meet Sirius’s bloodshot gaze. “I never wanted this,” he choked. 

Sirius’s face softened further. “Kid…” 

Draco turned away, blinking fast. Tears burned behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. “I wish you would stop looking at me like that,” he said. 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m some kid that needs to be saved instead of the person who got you into this whole mess,” he spat. 

Sirius’s voice was soft. “Why can’t you be both?” 

Draco closed his eyes. 

“We’ve all got light and dark inside us,” Sirius said, letting his chin drop against his chest. “You were brainwashed and tortured into becoming what you are today, and doing a bad thing doesn’t make you a bad person. And as much as you’ve said otherwise, I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Draco shook his head, gripping at his hair so hard the strands came loose. “Stop it. Please, stop it.” 

Sirius continued like he hadn’t heard. “Good people, bad people, monsters, and men. Words that cannot capture what we truly are. The best and worst parts of ourselves coexist, and when we pretend otherwise, we do those around us a disservice.” Sirius coughed, low and rattling, blood dribbling out between his cracked lips. When he spoke again, his voice was pained. “I know it’s easier to believe you are a monster, but I beg of you—don’t try to absolve yourself of guilt by saying you're a villain with no capacity for change. Your choices are your own, and you must live with them, but never treat your future as a foregone conclusion. You can choose  _ good.”  _

Draco felt like he was going to throw up. Sirius shouldn’t say these things—Sirius  _ couldn’t _ say these things, because it only drove home the fact that Draco had condemned a good man to a painful death. A good man who  _ cared _ about him, who wanted to  _ help _ him. 

It would be better if Sirius had yelled at him,  _ screamed _ at him. But Sirius only watched him with sad grey eyes. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Draco choked. 

“I’m not long for this world. I know that.” Sirius’s eyes fluttered closed. He let out a breath, long and trembling, before looking up, meeting Draco’s gaze once again. “I believe you are more than a monster, Draco. I’ve seen the light underneath all the darkness. And if I am dead when you realize it for yourself, I hope you know that I forgive you.” He went quiet. “I do not want to die with regrets.” 

Draco couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They streamed down his face, damp and salty, dripping onto the cold stone floor of the cell. His chest felt too tight, like someone was squeezing his heart in their hand. 

“Hey, kid?” Sirius croaked. His throat bobbed. “Will you do something for me?” 

Draco swiped at his nose with his sleeve. “I’ll—I’ll try,” he whispered.   
Sirius let out a long, shaky breath, wincing as it jostled his wounds. “I won’t ask you to kill me—that would be cruel. But, when you see Remus again… tell him that I love him.” He squeezed his eyes shut, but he didn’t quite manage to mask the pain in them. “Tell him I’m sorry I never got the chance to say it. I don’t regret the way things ended for me, but I regret that we didn’t get more time.”

Draco’s heart cracked in two. “Sirius, I—” 

The cell door swung open. 

Draco scrambled to his feet, whirling around to come face-to-face with Lucius Malfoy. “F-father!” 

Lucius’s frown deepened when he saw Draco standing there, tears still streaking silently down his face. “Draco. I don’t believe anyone gave you permission to be in here.” 

“I was just bringing water for the prisoner,” Draco said, lowering his gaze to the ground. 

Lucius’s hand lashed out, seizing Draco by the chin and yanking him forward. His fingers were bruising on Draco’s face, thin lips pulling back into a sneer as he stared down at his only son. “God, look at you. Are you crying over him?” He released Draco so suddenly that he stumbled, then shoved him roughly to the floor. 

Sirius’s voice came from behind them, a low, feral growl. “Don’t touch him.” 

Lucius looked up. His eyes hardened when he saw Sirius, morphing into an expression of cruel disgust that Draco had learned to fear. “You think you get to tell me how to treat my son?” 

Sirius said nothing, but his gaze was alight with defiance. 

Lucius’s lips pulled back from his teeth. His hand wrapped around Draco’s throat, squeezing as he hauled him upwards, whispering in his ear, “Have you befriended a blood traitor, Draco? You’re disgusting. My own son—a monster, an animal, and now a traitor as well.”

Draco choked, clawing at the hand squeezing his throat. He clutched uselessly at his father’s fingers, trying to loosen his hold, but Lucius’s death grip didn’t let up. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t  _ breathe— _

Sirius started to thrash, teeth clenching in pain. “Get away from him, you piece of shit—” 

“Even after everything, he’s still trying to protect you.” Lucius’s breath was hot in his ear. “What did you do to make him so loyal to you? A brat like you doesn’t have a loyal bone in your body, do you?” 

Stars danced in Draco’s vision. His fingers were glowing sluggish where he tore at his father’s hands; his lungs seized. 

Behind them, Sirius was shouting something incoherent. 

“Maybe when we decide to put him out of his misery, I’ll have you deliver the killing blow,” Lucius sneered. “How would you like that, Draco? How would you like to kill Sirius Black?” 

Darkness swarmed around the corners of his eyes. He was going to pass out soon—maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t wake up. That would be better, he thought, than  _ this— _ this torturous existence he had condemned himself to. Maybe he should just give up. Maybe it would’ve been better if he had died a long time ago. 

It felt like he was hearing everything from underwater. Even Sirius’s roar sounded far away and muffled. What was he crying out for? 

Too suddenly, the hand around this throat released. Draco fell to the ground, gasping and choking, clutching at his neck. Every shaking breath he drew into his lungs was both agony and relief. 

Sirius’s voice was desperate. “Draco, are you okay?  _ Draco.”  _

Draco couldn’t look at him. 

“Get out,” Lucius said. His eyes were cold and hard. “Don’t let me catch you in here again.” 

Draco scrambled to his feet, staggering to the door. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough. 

He cast one solemn glance over his shoulder. Sirius was looking at him with agonized eyes, lips silently shaping Draco’s name. Even when Draco had found him here, cut to pieces and covered in bruises, Draco hadn’t seen real pain on his face until this moment. 

And as he stumbled down the hall, Draco only knew one thing. 

_ I have to get him out of here.  _

***

Remus heaved again into the toilet. His whole body was shaking—it hadn’t stopped since the bloody message he had received hours ago. 

_ Come to the Shrieking Shack at midnight in three days time, or the next thing he loses is his head.  _

Sirius—they had Sirius. The boy with the bright eyes and curious smile. The dark, jaded man he had grown into, who was no less beautiful for the shadows in his gaze. The one person who had been there for Remus through everything, who had pieced together the broken pieces after Remus shattered. 

They were hurting him. They were  _ hurting _ him. And if Remus didn’t give himself up, Sirius would die. 

Tonks rubbed a soothing hand over his back. “It’s going to be okay, Remus,” she said, but her voice cracked. “He’s alive.” 

Remus’s eyes fluttered closed. “For how much longer?” 

“We’re going to get him out.” 

Nausea roiled in Remus’s stomach, and he heaved again. 

Through the haze of pain and terror, he couldn’t help but think of Draco. Haunted grey eyes and ghosts in his smile, the boy who had never known love or safety. Had he done this, or was he, too, at the mercy of those who had abused him for his entire life? Or was it some sick, twisted mix of both? 

In only a month, Remus had come to care so deeply about the boy that the idea of anyone laying a finger on him made Remus sick to his stomach. 

“Do you think…” Tonks trailed off, eyes guttering. She cleared her throat. “Draco. Do you think this is his fault?” 

Remus shook his head. “I don’t know.” But the truth hung between them, unspoken: how would the Death Eaters have found them if the boy didn't’ sell them out? 

Tonks bit her lip, eyes filling with tears. “I trusted him.” 

“Tonks…” 

“No.” Her hands tightened into fists. “I  _ trusted _ him. We all did. How could he have done something like this?” 

“He’s still a child, Tonks.” 

“How long are we going to keep excusing his actions?” Tonks burst out. Tears were streaming down her face. “We gave him a second chance, but how many more does he deserve? How many times can we forgive him?”

_ “Tonks. _ We don’t know anything yet.” Remus let out a long, shuddering breath. “When we get them back, we’ll worry about our next steps then.” 

Tonks choked, covering her mouth with a hand. “If Sirius dies because of him…” 

_ “Stop.”  _

Remus’s voice cracked. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the tears stinging behind his eyes. “Sirius is not going to die. We’re going to get him back.” 

“And if we can’t?” Tonks whispered. 

“Then I’m going to the Shrieking Shack.” 

Tonks’s eyes went wide. “Remus, you can’t. They’ll kill you both!”

“I can’t just leave him, Tonks!” Remus snapped. His body was coiled so tight he thought he was about to burst. “I’d rather die. Do you understand?” 

“Remus…” 

Remus was trembling. His tears spilled over, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if he could block out the cold, bitter reality. “I love him, Tonks,” he whispered. 

Tonks’s face softened. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t. I  _ love _ him.” Remus’s voice cracked. He buried his face in his hands, body shaking with the effort it took to keep his sobs at bay. “I  _ love _ him.” 

Tonks’s arms wrapped around Remus, and she pulled him closer, running a soothing hand through his hair. That was all it took: Remus broke. 

He sobbed, clutching onto the front of Tonks’s shirt like she was the only thing keeping him from slipping away. His shoulders were heaving with the force of his cries; keening wails slipped through his lips, the sounds high and terrible as the grief and pain welled up and boiled over. 

Because they had Sirius. Sirius was  _ gone _ . 

And Remus didn’t know how to get him back. 

***

Everything hurt. 

His skin had been split, his bones had been broken, his flesh severed. His hands were numb where the rope cut into his skin, but at least it kept him feeling the worst of the pain from his missing finger. 

The hunger was unbearable. The thirst was worse. Where the hunger was a roaring beast in his gut, eating him alive from the inside out, the thirst was sly and sinister: a desert crawling up his dry throat and parched tongue until he thought he could lose his mind from it. 

And then there was the cold. It wasn’t enough to kill him, just enough to keep him miserable, keep him suffering. His teeth chattered; shivers rocked his body, every involuntary movement making his wounds scream anew. 

But none of the pain compared to what he felt when he saw Draco Malfoy again. 

A month spent coaxing smiles from his lips and light into his eyes—gone in an instant. Now, as he crept back into Sirius’s cell, his grey eyes were dead. Wrong. Bruises ringed his throat, and more trailed beneath his clothes, no doubt even worse in the places Sirius couldn’t see. 

Sirius had known Lucius beat his son. But he hadn’t expected the savagery, the  _ brutality,  _ until he had seen it for himself. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Sirius croaked, then winced. His throat was so dry that talking hurt. 

“What my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” 

“What will he do to you if he finds out?” 

Something flickered over Draco’s expressionless face, something cold and small and  _ afraid. _ But he schooled his expression before Sirius could catch more than a glimpse. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me,” he whispered.

“Draco—”

Draco cut him off, striding forward until he was standing close enough for Sirius to see the faint outline of a handprint on his cheek. “Open your mouth,” he demanded. 

Sirius frowned. “Draco?” 

_ “Just do it.”  _

Sirius did as he was told. Maybe Draco had brought more water for him? He’d probably kill a man for just a taste. 

But Draco didn’t bring a bottle to his mouth. Instead, he slipped something cold and round between his lips. A coin? 

Draco’s eyes were wide and urgent. “Listen to me, Sirius: whatever they do to you,  _ don’t scream. _ Don’t let them see it.” 

Sirius’s heart was beating too fast. He maneuvered the coin so that it was resting under his tongue, but didn’t spit it out. “Draco, what is this?” 

“I did this.” Draco’s voice cracked. “This is my fault. And I can’t fix it, but I have to try.” 

“I don’t understand,” Sirius begged. 

“You don’t have to understand. Just… trust me.” The boy’s face shuttered. “Even though I know I don’t deserve it.” 

Sirius was getting desperate. “What’s going to happen to you?” 

“I’m staying here.” His gaze dropped to the ground. “I’ve burdened you long enough—this is the only place I belong.” The boy’s throat worked, and Sirius thought he saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. “Remus and Tonks… tell them thank you from me. And I’m sorry.” 

Draco started backing away. 

“Draco, what are you doing? Come back!” Sirius pulled against the ropes, ignoring the way they dug into his raw, bleeding wrists. “Kid, please, I don’t—”

“I have to go,” Draco blurted. “I can’t be here when it activates.” 

“When  _ what _ activates?” Sirius pleaded. “Whatever you’re doing, stop. We can fix this together.” 

A tear slipped down Draco’s cheek, but he hurriedly wiped it away. “It’ll be okay, Sirius. I promise.” 

Draco turned on his heel and fled. 

Sirius roared, fighting uselessly against his restraints. He was weak—so weak, and everything hurt so much—but he couldn’t just let Draco go. Whatever he was doing, Sirius had to stop him. 

“Kid— _ kid!  _ Draco!” 

He was still screaming Draco’s name when the portkey under his tongue activated, and the world faded to blackness and mist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments, because hearing what you have to say gives me so much serotonin. If you want to yell at me (which, let's face it, I deserve), you can find me on tumblr at noelleification!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Sorry I got this chapter out late—if you're following my tumblr, you'll know that it's mock trial competition season, which means I have practice for multiple hours almost every day and practically no time to write. I'll be writing a bit slower for the month of February, but I should be back to a more regular update schedule come March!
> 
> In other news, I made a Blood Moon Rising playlist! It's basically just sad songs, because those are my JAM, but they totally set the mood for reading!
> 
> Also—holy shit, 20,000 hits!! I literally can't BELIEVE how far this fic has come, and I'm so ridiculously grateful to every single one of you. This fic wouldn't exist without you guys—your constant support is what makes me want to sit down and write every day. Thank you, thank you, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments.

Sirius slammed back into being on the street just outside Grimmauld Place, and promptly began heaving. The nausea that normally accompanied travel by portkey was only exacerbated by days of starvation and dehydration, 

He couldn’t help but choke out a cry as he landed. His wounds screamed, broken bones jostling and parted flesh pulling violently. His head was swimming. Now that ropes weren't holding him up, it was apparent just how much blood he had lost—or maybe it was the freezing cold that had his head so muddled. If he’d thought it was cold in his cell, it was nothing compared to this: lying half-naked in the dirty snow. 

But none of that mattered, not really. Because Sirius was out. He was  _ free.  _

And the kid… the kid was not. 

“D-draco,” Sirius stuttered, forcing himself onto his hands and knees. “D-draco!” His hoarse voice cracked as he screamed into the night, but the winds snatched his words away as soon as he uttered them. 

Sirius sobbed, balling his hands into fists. He couldn’t protect Regulus, and he couldn’t protect Draco, either. But he couldn’t help anyone if he froze to death in the snow. 

He started to drag himself towards the door, gritting his teeth against the pain and cold. God, his hand was  _ throbbing— _ it even hurt to breathe. Had he broken his ribs? He didn’t know if he could make it to the door. 

“Remus,” he croaked.  _ “Remus!”  _

He was shaking. He couldn’t muster up the strength to stand; all he could do was drag himself across the ice to the stairs. 

_ “Remus!”  _ Sirius screamed his name as loud as his broken voice would allow. “Help me!”

He wasn’t going to make it. He wasn’t going to make it, and he would die here in the snow, and Draco would’ve done all this for nothing. 

The door slammed open just as his arms gave out. 

Remus was standing in the doorway. His face was pale, eyes wide and haunted as he stared down at Sirius. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Sirius?” he breathed. 

Sirius choked on a sob. “T-the kid—we have to get the kid—”

Remus bounded down the steps, falling to his knees in front of Remus with a broken, pitiful noise. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he reached out, hands fluttering around Sirius’s face like he was too afraid to touch him. “What did they do to you?” he whispered, finally mustering up the courage to pull Sirius into his arms. Against Sirius’s ice-cold skin, Remus’s hands were so hot they burned, and Sirius moaned as his wounds were jostled. 

Remus was shaking. He cradled Sirius’s head, his tears dripping onto Sirius’s face as he bent over his love like he could protect him from the world. Sirius was practically incoherent, but Remus could hear him muttering Draco’s name, over and over. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Remus whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you, Sirius. I’ve got you.” He slid his arms under Sirius’s prone body, lifting the wounded man into his arms, and Sirius cried out as broken bones shifted and torn flesh stretched. Remus closed his eyes, biting down on his lower lip to keep his sob inside. “Just a little longer, Sirius. You’re going to be okay.”

Sirius didn’t know if he would. Everything inside him was breaking—they were going to hurt the kid, he knew it. Draco had stayed behind so that Sirius could escape, and the realization hurt worse than all his wounds. 

Remus stood, hefting his love up from the freezing ground. Sirius’s head lolled against his chest, his breath hot against Remus’s skin. The snow underneath them was stained crimson with Sirius’s blood. 

It was only then that Remus looked up. His eyes met Tonks’s: she was standing in the doorway, sobbing uncontrollably, one hand covering her mouth to mute her cries. “He’s freezing—I need warm clothes,” Remus demanded. “Bandages, warm, soapy water—a sleeping draught, or something to numb the pain.”

Tonks remained frozen in the doorway.  
Remus’s patience snapped. “Now, Tonks. Go!” 

She whirled, disappearing into the shadows of Grimmauld Place, leaving Remus alone with Sirius in the bloody snow. 

Remus closed his eyes, holding Sirius’s head to his chest. Sirius was too exhausted to tremble. He pressed himself closer to Remus’s body, soaking in his beautiful, torturous warmth, even as it burned against his icy skin. 

The world was swimming in and out of focus. He could feel Remus’s hands on his body, shaking him; hear Remus’s voice, begging him to stay. Through bleary eyes, he saw Remus kick the door open, and a wave of hot air hit him. He shuddered, curling further into Remus’s chest. 

“Stay with me, Sirius!” Remus begged. Sirius wanted to ask why he was crying, but he couldn’t find the strength. 

Sirius’s vision faded to black, then came back with a searing vengeance as his broken body was laid out on the bed. His back arched, and he cried out. 

Hands clutched Sirius’s shoulders, pushing him down against the bed. “Shit. Tonks!” 

Through the haze of pain, Sirius couldn’t remember where he was—only that he was on fire, and he was hurting, and everything burned. He struggled weakly against the grip that held him down, but he was too weak to do much more than shove with his good hand. 

Gentle fingers smoothed his hair away from his face. “Shh, Sirius, it’s okay. Sirius, it’s  _ me.” _

Sirius’s eyes fluttered open, and Remus’s face swum into view. Suddenly, everything was so much worse—because Remus,  _ Remus _ was here, he was in danger, and Sirius couldn’t watch them hurt Remus the way they had hurt Draco—

Remus swore. “Tonks, hurry—he’s delirious!” 

“I’m here, I’m here!” The bed creaked as Tonks sat down by Sirius’s head, and what was  _ she _ doing here? Had the Death Eaters gotten her, too? 

“We have to get him warm and stop the blood loss,” Remus demanded. His eyes were wide and haunted, his face wet with tears, but his voice was steady. “His hands must’ve been tied, and now that they’re free, the blood flow to his missing finger has increased.”

“Should we give him the sleeping draught?” 

Remus’s face shuttered. “Not yet. He’s freezing—we can’t let him fall asleep.” 

Tonks’s eyes widened. “The pain…” 

“There’s nothing we can do about it now, not with the supplies we have on hand,” Remus said. His hand stilled over Sirius’s hair, and when he spoke again, his voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Our first priority has to be keeping him alive.” 

Tears were streaming silently down Tonks’s face—but when she met Remus’s gaze, her eyes hardened, filling with steely resolve. “What do you need me to do?” 

Remus’s throat worked. “Hold him down.”

Tonks went pale, but when her hands latched around Sirius’s wrists, they were steady. “Do it.” 

With a long, shuddering breath, Remus started to clean Sirius’s wounds, starting with the site of his missing finger: weeping red flesh, putrid discharge, and bone peeking out—

Sirius’s back arched, and the scream that tore from his throat would haunt Remus for the rest of his days. 

***

Narcissa Malfoy was not a sentimental woman by nature. 

Since her heart shattered so many years ago, it had become so roped with scars and stitches as she tried to piece it back together—and remained so spotted with open, gaping wounds where the hurt had yet to heal entirely—that logic and reason had become her backbone. Anything and everything else she saw as frivolous, incompetent, unecessary. 

But there was one thing that still managed to worm itself into Narcissa’s twisted, blackened heart. One sentimentality that she allowed herself, despite how weak it made her. One piece of love and light and  _ goodness _ that still dwelled inside a woman who had long since given up on such things. 

Say what you would about Narcissa Malfoy, but she loved her son. 

She stormed into the cell where Draco was being held with her arms folded across her chest. The second she saw Draco, tears burned behind her eyes; she had to blink rapidly to keep them from falling. 

Draco had always been a sickly boy. He was a thin, wan child who grew into a thin, wan young man. It wasn’t his complexion that almost brought Narcissa to her knees, or how his cheekbones jutted from his narrow face—all these things, she was used to. 

What hurt more than anything else was that Draco looked  _ better _ . He was still too thin, but he had gained a few pounds over the month he had been away, and though he had new bruises on his face—courtesy of his father—the old, yellow-green marks had faded away. The wounds on his arms had been tended to and wrapped in bandages, and the shadows under his eyes were lighter than she could ever remember them being. 

And suddenly it made sense why Draco would risk everything for someone he hardly knew, why he would betray his own mother for someone he’d met a month ago. Because they had offered Draco something that Narcissa never could: safety. 

And as much as Narcissa wanted to be angry, she couldn’t. Not that someone had taken care of her baby when she couldn’t. 

Narcissa blinked back her tears and lifted her chin. “Was it worth it?” 

Draco turned to meet her gaze, and his grey eyes—Narcissa’s eyes, the same ones she saw looking back at her in the mirror every morning—were filled with defiance. “Yes.” 

“You’d die for him?” Narcissa asked. 

Draco flinched, but his shoulders did not sink. “I made a mistake. I had to fix it.” 

Narcissa covered her mouth with a hand, breathing deep to keep her sob inside. “You stupid, stupid boy.” 

“They’re going to kill me, then?” Draco asked. His voice cracked, and Narcissa thought she saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes before he turned his face away. 

“Not yet. Only because I managed to convince the Dark Lord that he’ll find a use for you, yet.” Narcissa dug her nails into her palms so hard she drew blood. “I’ve done all I can for you now, Draco. Whatever they do to you, I won’t be able to stop it.”

Draco turned to face the window, his posture rigid and his spine straight. “You’ve never tried to stop him from hurting me before.” 

The words speared Narcissa through the heart. She stumbled back a step, bracing her hand on the wall to keep her knees from buckling. A tear slipped over her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly—she couldn’t be weak, not even in front of her own son. The message had been drilled into her since birth. “You don’t know what I’ve done.” 

“You weren’t there,” Draco whispered.

“I tried.” 

“When father hit me, you weren’t there. When he broke my bones, you weren’t there. When Fenrir Greyback ripped out my throat and I was choking on my own blood, you left me to die on the floor.” Draco turned, meeting his mother’s gaze with tears in his eyes, and he had never looked stronger than he did in that moment. “You weren’t there, and I dealt with it alone.”

Narcissa’s throat was so tight it ached. She swallowed, forcing herself to stand up straight, even as his words landed like a punch in the gut. “He hurts me, too, Draco. I don’t know what you expect me to do.” 

“I was a child.” Draco wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I was a child, and you were my mother, and I needed you.” 

Narcissa was shaking. “What do you want from me?” 

Draco turned back to the window. “The only thing I want from you now is to leave me alone.”

***

Sirius was asleep. 

He had passed out awhile ago, from pain or exhaustion, Remus wasn’t sure. He was confident that Sirius’s body temperature had been raised enough that he wouldn’t die in his sleep—but still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Sirius’s side. 

Remus reached out, brushing Sirius’s bruised cheek with the back of his hand. Tears burned behind his eyes. Sirius had been through so much—a war, his horrible parents, the death of his best friend, Azkaban, and now this? Would he ever get a chance to just breathe? Would they ever be allowed to be happy? 

Sirius’s wounds were… extensive, especially considering that he’d been with the Death Eaters for less than three days. Besides the obvious wounds—his missing finger, the bruises mottling all over his skin, and the lashes criss-crossing his back—he had at least one broken rib, and the blood on his temple implied a head injury of some sort. He’d been freezing when they found him, though from the temperature of his cell or the minutes spent half-naked in the snow, Remus didn’t know. Three days wasn’t enough time for him to lose significant body fat, but Sirius had been underweight to begin with, and his eyes looked even more sunken than usual in his pale, waxen face. 

It could’ve been worse, he supposed, but this… this was bad enough. 

In his state, healing magic could only do so much. It utilized the body’s energy reserves to speed healing, but Sirius had nothing left to give. 

Sirius stirred under the heaps of blankets Remus had piled over him. There was a line between his brows, like he was dreaming of something unpleasant, and the bruises swirling over his skin made his face look distorted and wrong. Despite it all, despite the gashes and blood and bruises, Remus thought Sirius was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

Remus stroked his thumb over the side of Sirius’s face, and immediately, Sirius settled.   
“How’s he doing?” 

Remus’s gaze snapped up to find Tonks standing in the doorway, holding a steaming mug in her hands. The bags under her eyes were dark, bruised purple, and her bubblegum-pink hair was even messier than usual. Her day-old clothes were wrinkled and stained. 

“He’s out cold, but stable,” Remus replied. “It’s probably for the best that he sleeps as long as possible.” 

Tonks took a step inside, shoving the steaming mug into Remus’s hands. “Drink up.”

Remus frowned. “What is it?” 

“Chamomile tea.” Tonks shrugged, running a tired hand through her hair. “After the day you’ve had, you need something soothing.”

“Thank you,” Remus murmured, raising the tea to his lips. He took a sip, but didn’t taste it. All he could do was count Sirius’s breaths, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest to be sure it didn’t fall still. 

Tonks cleared her throat, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Sirius said something… about the kid.” 

Of course, of course she was thinking about Draco. Remus, was, too—he just hadn’t been expecting her to ask. Not yet, at least. 

But maybe that was an oversight on Remus’s part. Tonks might’ve been angry—she might’ve been so furious that all she wanted was to scream and rage and destroy—but in the end, she was still  _ Tonks _ . She felt things so deeply that sometimes her emotions got out of hand, and Remus had been on the receiving end of more than one of her tirades. But when it really came down to it, once Tonks had accepted you into her heart, there was nothing you could do to get rid of her. 

Remus ran a hand down his face. “God. After everything, I can’t help worrying about him.” 

“Do you think he’s in danger?” Tonks whispered. 

“I don’t know.” Remus shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to say no—betraying Sirius should’ve earned him some favor from the Dark Lord—but after seeing the way his father treats him…” 

Tonks’s hands squeezed into fists at her sides. “And then there’s the question of how Sirius got out.” 

Remus’s heart plummeted. “You don’t think…”  
  
“I don’t know.” She buried her head in her shaking hands, voice cracking. “I just know I can’t explain how else he would’ve gotten out. And Draco… I don’t think he’s all bad.” She looked up, meeting Remus’s eyes. “Do you?” 

Remus let out a long, shuddering sigh. “No. I don’t.” He thought of grey, tortured eyes and broken, heaving sobs.  _ I don’t know why the fuck you haven’t hurt me yet.  _ “Even if he had nothing to do with Sirius’s escape, I know that Draco isn’t all bad. He’s just… broken.”

Tonks wrapped her arms around her body. “So what are we going to do?” 

“After Sirius wakes up?” Remus took Sirius’s hand in his, then looked up to meet Tonks’s eyes. “We’re going to get Draco back.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo, another update! I was really inspired to write this chapter—a lot of really important stuff happens—so I was able to get it out pretty quickly. I'm super curious to know what you guys think of this chapter because writing it was SO fun, so let me know what you think in the comments!! I always love hearing what you have to say. :)

Draco jolted awake to the sound of a commotion outside his door. 

He raised his head, wincing at the crick in his neck. He was sitting against the bare wall, knees hugged to his chest, and the hardwood floors had done his aching body no favors. Each of his bruises throbbed as he blinked his eyes open. 

The room in which he was being kept had been transformed into a cell—bars on the windows and wards over every entrance and exit—and everything he could’ve possibly used as a weapon had been removed. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been thrown into the dungeon in the basement where he usually weathered the full moon, but at least here he could feel the sun on his face. 

It was the sound of yelling voices that had awoken him. As Draco massaged his sore neck with a hand, he heard pounding footsteps outside his door. A second later, the door burst open.

Two Death Eaters stood in the doorway—Anton and Dolohov, a brutish pair who almost reminded him of Crabbe and Goyle. They wore frowns as they stared down at Draco, but excitement glittered in their eyes. 

Draco heard Lucius Malfoy’s cold voice from the living room. “Bring him.”

The ward shuddered as Anton and Dolohov stepped through, seizing Draco by the arms. He hissed at the pressure on his bruises, barely managing to stumble to his feet as they hauled him from the room. His heartbeat picked up—was this it? Were they going to kill him now? 

Draco closed his eyes. If he died here, no one would remember him. No one would mourn him. He had lived his life in fear, cowering from every shadow and running from every threat, and in the end, he had betrayed the only people who had ever seen him as more than a means to an end. No matter how hard he tried to right his mistake, some things just couldn’t be fixed. Sirius would never get his finger back. He would never be able to forget the horrors that had been done to him inside this house. 

But even if Sirius hated him in the end, Draco couldn’t bring himself to regret saving him. If he was going to die, this was how he’d like to go: defying the people who had beaten and degraded him for his whole life. Maybe death was better than going back to that half-life. Maybe it was better that Draco wouldn’t have to spend another moment in his father’s house. 

The voices grew louder as Draco was dragged into the main room. He forced his head up, looking around at the crowd: his mother and father, Bellatrix, a group of snatchers he’d never seen before, and… oh. 

_ Oh.  _

Fenrir Greyback looked the same. A year hadn’t changed his matted grey hair and towering build; his yellowed nails were filed into points like claws, and fangs protruded from his wide, cracked mouth. Even now, he looked more animal than human. 

And suddenly, all Draco could remember was pain:  _ Claws on his chest. Blood in his lungs. Teeth around his throat.  _ His breath caught, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t calm his racing heart. 

Greyback smiled when he saw Draco, tongue flicking over his lips. “I didn’t think I’d get two treats today,” the elder werewolf snarled. 

“Focus, Greyback,” Lucius snapped. “The boy.” 

The hands on Draco’s shoulders tightened, and he was shoved to his knees. The sight of Greyback left him too weak to fight back—he was shaking so hard his teeth rattled. He forced himself to look anywhere,  _ anywhere _ other than at the elder werewolf who had tortured and tormented him. 

It was only then that Draco noticed the final figures clustered into the room. 

For a moment, his brain stalled. No, it couldn’t be—Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger couldn’t be standing in the corner of the room, hands tied behind their backs—but nevertheless, there they were. Weasley’s freckled face had gone scarlet with rage, and his ginger hair was practically brown from caked oil and dirt. If possible, he looked even skinnier than usual. Hermione’s face was streaked with tears, her dark brown skin scraped and filthy. Her coily hair was frizzy and tangled, and her shoulders were shaking with the force of her sobs. 

They looked different. Rougher, dirtier. But there was no mistaking them. And if Ron and Hermione were here, that meant… 

It was at that moment that the third and final member of their party was dragged in front of Draco. 

All Draco could do was gape. How—how were they here? What cruel twist of fate had brought Lucius, his abuser, Greyback, his attacker, and Potter, his rival, together in the same room?

Lucius’s voice rang out, icy and cruel. “Draco, is this Harry Potter?”

He looked ghastly. His face was stretched taut, flesh swelling and bulging under straining skin; the scar on his forehead was barely visible. His mahogany hair was even messier than usual, hanging down to his shoulders, and his glasses were broken and twisted, the circular lens cracked on the left side. 

But those eyes were unmistakable: bright, forest green and full of defiance. Those same eyes had locked with Draco’s seven years ago, when Harry rejected his offer of friendship. Those same eyes had mocked him from across the Great Hall every day for so long. Those same eyes had haunted his dreams, cold and enticing as incorporeal hands drifted over Draco’s body. Those same eyes had stared down at him when a spell left Draco broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor. 

Harry Potter was in Malfoy Manor, and all hope was lost. 

“I don’t know,” Draco said. 

“You useless child,” Lucius spat. His hand drew back. When it came down again, Draco was ready: he took the blow with hardly more than a whimper, even as Lucius’s nail cut a line across his cheek. 

From the corner of the room, Draco thought he heard Hermione yelp.

Lucius seized Draco’s chin, forcing his son to meet his eyes. “You have shamed yourself, Draco. You have shamed this family. This is your chance to redeem yourself.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Draco forced out through gritted teeth. 

“Don’t toy with me, boy.” Lucius roughly twisted Draco’s head towards Harry, fingers digging into Draco’s face. “Is this Harry Potter or isn’t it?”

Green eyes met grey ones and held.  _ For Tonks. For Sirius. For Remus.  _

Draco took a deep breath. “No.”

Lucius reeled back. “No?” 

Draco’s gaze never left Harry. His green eyes had widened at Draco’s words, but his face fell back into a neutral mask just as quickly. 

“That’s not Harry Potter,” Draco said. “I’d recognize him.” 

Lucius was sputtering. “But… but…” His face hardened. He strode forward, seizing Hermione’s hand in his fist and forcing her onto the ground. Behind them, Ron started struggling, fighting against the arms banded around his chest, but his captors didn’t budge. 

Lucius shoved his wand under Hermione’s chin, forcing her face up. Tears streaked down her face, dripping off her chin. “This is Hermione Granger,” Lucius demanded. “Isn’t it?” 

“No.”

_ “No?” _ Lucius roared. He dropped Hermione on the ground, only to seize a wrinkled paper from Greyback’s clawed hands. He brandished it in Draco’s face like proof. “We have a picture in the Daily Prophet!” 

Draco clenched his jaw. “Hermione doesn’t look like that,” he insisted. “She’s uglier. This girl’s teeth aren’t nearly large enough to be Granger’s—”

Draco’s head was once again whipped to the side as his father backhanded him across the face. “You lying little shit,” Lucius seethed. “Look at you, picking mudbloods and blood traitors over your own kind. You  _ disgust _ me.” 

Draco spat blood onto the floor, but said nothing. 

“So what?” Bellatrix demanded, voice shrill. “Is it Potter or not?” 

“This wand doesn’t match the description,” Narcissa reasoned. 

“Draco is lying,” Lucius seethed. “It’s Potter. Summon the Dark Lord.” 

Narcissa shook her head, eyes wide. “Not yet! If we waste his time…” 

“How else do you propose we solve this?” Lucius snarled. “It’s Potter, I know it is!” 

“But Draco said—” 

Greyback reached into his pack, pulling out a goblin-made sword that glinted with rubies in the candlelight. “What about this?”

Draco could’ve sworn he felt the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. 

Bellatrix’s face had gone slack. “Where did you get that?”

“It was in the boy’s tent,” Greyback said. “I was planning on keeping it, but if it can help us identify him…” 

“It’s mine!” Bellatrix hissed. “That’s impossible—it’s supposed to be in my vault at Gringotts!” 

Narcissa stepped forward. “Bella, calm down—”

“Be quiet!” Bellatrix screeched, running her hands through tangled black hair. Her chest was heaving too fast. “The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!” 

“Bella, what—”

“If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,” Bellatrix panted, wrapping her arms around herself. “The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself… But if he finds out… I must… I must know…” 

Bellatrix started to pace, fisting her hands in her wild hair and pulling it so tightly that her skin went taut. Familiar madness glinted in her eyes as she stared at the ruby encrusted sword. “The prisoners must be placed in the cellar,” she muttered. “I need to think of what to do.” 

Narcissa nodded towards Greyback. “You—take them to the cellar.” 

“Wait!” Bellatrix straightened, eyes widening when they locked on Hermione. “Leave the mudblood.” 

Greyback grunted his agreement, seizing Ron by the arm. 

The breath left Ron’s lungs in a rush. “No,” he whispered, face blanching in horror. “No—you can’t.” 

“Worried about your girlfriend, are you?” Bellatrix sing-songed. She seized the front of Hermione’s robes, hauling her closer even as the muggle-born girl cringed away. She trailed the tip of her wand down Hermione’s face. “

Ron was fighting in earnest now, straining against Greyback’s iron grip. Hermione was sobbing, shaking, and it only seemed to fuel the terror and fury that was driving Ron forward. “No, stop it!” he screamed, clawing at Greyback’s arms. “You can have me—you can take me!” 

Bellatrix cackled, digging her wand into the soft flesh of Hermione’s cheek. “If she dies, I’ll take you next.” 

“What about the boy?” Greyback asked, nodding towards Draco. He didn’t even seem to notice Ron struggling against his hold. 

Lucius’s eyes locked onto his only son’s and held. A month ago, Draco might have cowered away from his gaze—but things had changed. Now, he only lifted his chin in defiance. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Lucius turned his face away. “If Draco chooses to align himself with the wrong side, I don’t care what happens to him. He ceased to be my son the moment he turned into an animal—if Greyback wants him, he can finish him off.”

Draco felt the floor drop out from beneath him as Greyback smiled. 

***

Sirius opened his eyes to darkness and pain. 

Everything ached—his hand, his ribs, his skin—and with the dozens of blankets piled over his motionless body, he had started sweating through his shirt. They were tucked so tightly around him that he could hardly move. For a moment, he could hardly remember where he was or how he had gotten here—he only knew that something was desperately, terribly  _ wrong.  _

Slow, steady breathing was the only thing that broke the silence to which Sirius had awoken. He turned his head. Through the thick, impenetrable darkness, he could see little more than shapes, but still he could make out the silhouette of someone slumbering by his bedside. And despite that sense of horror, of wrongness, Sirius felt safer than he had in a long time. 

Sirius tried to shift onto his side, in vain hope that his sentry might come into sharper focus. But agony ripped through him, and he fell back onto the pillows with a gasp, clutching his ribs. 

The steady breathing caught, and the figure stirred. “Sirius?” murmured a rough, sleepy voice. 

Sirius felt the tension bleed from his muscles. “Hey, Moony,” he croaked. His throat ached—had he been screaming? 

There was a strangled sound from the chair by his bedside, like Remus was trying to choke back a sob. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” His hand reached out, slow and careful, to smooth Sirius’s sweat-damp hair away from his face. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Sirius’s brow furrowed. There was something important, something bad, that he couldn’t quite remember… 

And in an instant, it all came rushing back. The full moon, the Death Eaters, Bellatrix, Draco. 

Draco.  
  
_Draco._

Sirius sat bolt-upright, hissing at the strain on his broken ribs, and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. Draco had helped him escape, but he had stayed behind. Draco was still in the hands of the Death Eaters, the villains he had betrayed, the father who had treated him so terribly he flinched when he moved. Sirius was here and warm and  _ safe, _ and he had left Draco behind. 

Remus’s hands were on his shoulders, pressing him back against the bed. His voice was frantic. “Sirius, you need to lie back down. Sirius, please.”

“The kid,” Sirius panted. He clutched at Remus’s shirt with his good hand, pulling him forward so that their eyes were level. “God-fucking-dammit, where’s the kid?” 

Remus grabbed his wrists. “I’ll tell you everything if you lie back. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

The breath hissed in and out of Sirius’s lungs. He was hyperventilating, and goddammit, it  _ hurt _ —broken ribs were no joke—but he couldn’t bring himself to calm down. “Remus, I can’t—”

“You have to stay down,” Remus begged. “You can’t help anyone if you hurt yourself all over again.” 

Sirius shuddered, but relented as Remus’s gentle hands pushed him back against the pillows. Remus was right—he was no help to anybody in his state—but that didn’t stop the panic from searing through his veins. 

Remus smoothed his hair back from his face, his voice gentle. “I’m going to get you some water, Sirius. Then I’ll tell you everything.” 

Sirius forced himself to nod.

A lamp flickered to life, and Sirius squeezed his eyes tight as the light drove daggers of pulsing pain into his skull. He hissed. 

A large, gentle hand slid beneath his head, lifting him from the pillow. The plastic rim of a cup was placed against his lips, and Sirius tasted water, cool and fresh. All of a sudden, he couldn’t get enough. He’d gulped three mouthfuls before the cup was pulled away, and Sirius made a sound of protest low in his throat. Even that made his abdomen ache. 

“Take it slow,” Remus murmured, voice low and soothing. The headache had abated enough for Sirius to open his eyes, and he found Remus staring down at him. 

Remus looked dreadful. The shadows under his eyes were deep, bruised purple, and he looked older, like the last several days had aged him by years. He let out a long, shaking breath, eyes darting over Sirius’s face like he was reassuring himself that his friend was safe. 

“Draco,” Sirius reminded him. 

Remus sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “He isn’t here.” 

Sirius’s heart plummeted. “Where is he?”

“I think you know that better than we do.” Remus looked up, meeting Sirius’s eyes. “It’s been four days now since the full moon. A few days ago, we got a ransom note…” Remus’s voice cracked, “and then you showed up in the snow, bloody and freezing. We still don’t know how or why.” 

Sirius sucked in a breath, thunking his head back against the pillows. “That stupid fucking kid.” 

Remus’s face was grave. “Sirius, what happened?”

“Draco saved me.” Sirius shut his eyes, remembering how frightened the boy had been, how he had cowered when his father entered the room. How he had brought water for Sirius, the man he had betrayed, and practically begged for Sirius to condemn him for it. He was still just a child, so bent and scarred and broken—but despite all of it, despite the pain and fear, he had sacrificed himself to get Sirius out of that godforsaken house. “He gave me a portkey, but he…” Sirius’s breath hitched. “He stayed behind.” 

Remus’s eyes widened. “Why?” 

“He didn’t think he deserved to come with me. He didn’t think we’d take him back.” Sirius shook his head. “Stupid fucking kid,” he said again, but their was no venom in his tone. Only pain and grief and age-old exhaustion. 

“Sirius.” Remus brushed Sirius’s face with the back of his hand, almost like he was reassuring himself that Sirius was real. “What happened on the full moon? Where did you go?”

Sirius turned his face away. “We went to the Shrieking Shack.”

“Why?” 

Sirius bit his lip. He had promised— _ promised _ the kid he wouldn’t tell a soul. If the secret got out, he didn’t know if Draco would ever forgive him. But circumstances had changed, and if they ever wanted to get him back, Remus had to know the full story. “Because Draco is a werewolf.” 

Remus sucked in a breath, but said nothing. 

“You knew,” Sirius said, forcing himself to meet Remus’s gaze. “Didn’t you?” 

“I suspected.” Remus’s face was distant. “I mean, those scars were indication enough, but I didn’t want to believe it. Not until the full moon. I knew you wouldn’t leave me without a good reason.” 

Sirius nodded. “He sold me out. The Death Eaters wanted you—they said they’d kill Draco if he didn’t hand you over—but in the end, he had to settle for me.” Sirius’s hands fisted in the sheets. “I don’t think he planned it. He was desperate, and in the end, he regretted it. So he set me free, and he stayed behind.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.” 

Sirius’s heart squeezed. “Remus, we have to get him back.” 

“I know,” Remus said.

“What are we going to do?” 

“You are going to stay here and rest,” Remus replied. His voice left little room for argument, but the grief in his eyes mirrored Sirius’s own. “I am going to figure out how to get our idiot kid away from his father.” 

“No.” Sirius was already shaking his head, trembling with so much pent-up emotion that he couldn’t contain it all. “I can’t. I can’t just do nothing—”

“You can, and you will,” Remus demanded. 

“How can you expect me to  _ abandon _ him?” Sirius cried, eyes burning with tears that he wouldn’t let fall. “How can you expect me to stay here when I’ve  _ seen _ how they treat him, while I know that they’re  _ hurting _ him—”

“Because I can’t lose you again!” Remus burst out, voice cracking. His eyes widened once he realized what he’d said, and he turned his face away—but he didn’t take it back. “Sirius, I… you have no idea what those three days were like for me. I thought I was going to lose you forever.” 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

Sirius’s face softened. “Remus, I…”

“Sirius, if something happened to you, I would be able to handle it.” Remus’s voice was pleading, his face so pained that it took Sirius’s breath away. His throat worked. “I was terrified. I thought I’d never be able to tell you… that I’d never have the chance…” Remus turned his face away, cheeks going pink. “Sirius, I love you. I mean, I’m  _ in _ love with you. And I just…” His words went quiet. “I wanted you to know.” 

Sirius’s breath caught. 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” Remus said, cheeks flushing. “I mean, I know you like women—although maybe you like men too? I don’t know—but we’ve always been friends, and I don’t want to ruin that. It’s just… the idea of never getting to tell you how I felt has been haunting me, and I don’t want to have any regrets—”

Sirius cut him off, sharper than he intended. “You’re a fucking idiot, aren’t you?” 

Remus blinked. “What?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Remus, I’ve always loved you!” Sirius said. He reached out, cupping Remus's face in his hand, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened. “I’ve loved you since we were twelve years old.” 

Remus’s eyes had gone as wide as saucers. “Oh.” 

And suddenly, Sirius was laughing. Despite all the grief, despite all the pain, despite the worry and terror and heartbreak, Sirius was laughing so hard his broken ribs ached. Remus was staring at him like he’d grown a second head, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “I just confessed my undying love to you, and all you have to say is ‘oh’?” 

Remus looked dumbfounded. “I just… wasn’t exactly expecting this outcome.” 

And suddenly they were both laughing. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it—it had only taken them twenty-two years to admit their feelings, but here they were. Safe. Alive. Broken, but still fighting. And, most importantly, still together. 

It was long minutes before their laughter tapered off, and though the shadows under Remus’s eyes were just as dark, there was color in his cheeks and a smile on his lips. In that moment, Sirius thought Remus was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“Say it again,” Sirius whispered, eyes flicking over Remus’s face. He wanted to remember this moment forever—exactly how Remus had looked the first time he said those three words. 

Remus reached out, taking Sirius’s hand in his. “I love you,” he said. 

And Sirius smiled. Because amidst all the darkness, amidst all the pain, there was still light to be found, if you only looked hard enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 50,000 words, the Golden Trio finally made an appearance. This is still a Drarry fic, it's just gonna be... long. 
> 
> And Sirius and Remus finally confessing to one another!! Idiots in love!!! They're both so stupid, I love them!!!!!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! Sorry that it's been awhile, mock trial just ended and competition season is chaotic. Hopefully updates should be more regular now that it's over. Because of how chaotic life has been, this chapter is also sort of short? But anyways, here's chapter 19 :)

Grimmauld place wasn’t safe anymore. 

Draco was gone, and they couldn’t count on him to keep their secret—whether they used veritaserum, or he gave it up voluntarily, or, God forbid, if they  _ tortured _ it out of him… 

But no, Tonks wouldn’t linger on those thoughts for too long. Not until they could him out. 

She was kneeling on the floor of what had once been his bedroom, packing up his things as she tried not to cry. Not that he had much—he hadn’t even been here long enough for her to spoil the little brat the way she wanted to. All that was left was his scarce collection of new clothes (the Weird Sisters hoodie was missing, as he’d been wearing it when he was taken); the books Sirius had gotten him; the wizard’s chess set from Remus; and all the things Tonks had bought him for his birthday, painstakingly picking out all the bits and baubles that she thought would make him smile. 

She’d bring it all. When Draco returned—and he  _ would _ return—he’d have a place to stay. Just like he would always have a place with them. His family. 

A soft knock sounded from the doorway. “Tonks?” 

Tonks sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before she turned to meet Remus’s gaze. She forced a smile. “Hiya, Remus.” 

Remus’s face was grave. “How are you holding up?” 

“Fine. Just trying to get all this packed…” Her gaze trailed around Draco’s room. He’d been staying with them for such a short time, and yet his essence was all around her. His bed was made so neatly, his few belongings tucked away with such care, like they were the most precious things in the world. There was a stack of books on his nightstand that he’d obviously raided from Remus—one of them with a bookmark still halfway through. 

(Draco, Tonks had learned, was very particular about the treatment of his books. He’d confronted Remus quite aggressively once he discovered that the man had a habit of dog-earing pages and highlighting his favorite passages. 

Remus, for his part, thought that books were meant to be loved and used, and that marking the parts he liked best was the best way to remember them. 

Draco, on the other hand, was almost religious about books. He treated them with utmost respect, like they were more valuable than gold. Tonks supposed that books were an escape from reality for Draco—and for a boy raised with gold aplenty but who so desperately needed love… they might very well be more valuable to him, after all.)

Remus wandered inside the room, looking around with sad eyes. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Tonks snapped. For whatever reason, this felt… private, almost sacred. Everything in this room, she’d picked out for him. She’d wanted him to feel at home here, where she could keep an eye on the brat. Where she could be sure no one would hurt him again. To have someone intrude here… 

But when she met Remus’s tortured gaze, her voice softened. “He doesn’t have much.” 

Remus skimmed a hand over the bed—the quilt that Draco had slept under for all his days here. “We’re going to get him back,” Remus said quietly. “You know that, right?” 

“And what do you think will happen when we do?” Tonks whispered. “They’re not going to treat him kindly, Remus.” 

“I know.” 

Tonks’s breath hitched. “They’re going to  _ hurt _ him—” 

“I know, Tonks.” Remus’s voice was cold. He let out a breath, running a trembling hand down his face, and all of a sudden, he just sounded tired. “Goddammit, the kid already has too many scars.”

Tonks stared down at her hands. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “And what if he’s broken when we find him?” 

Remus settled on the edge of the bed, running his hand over the worn quilt that still smelled like Draco. “We’ll help him find himself again, just like we did before.” 

She bit her lip. “How many times can we put him back together before he’s past saving?” 

Remus was silent. Neither of them knew the answer. As much as they tried to pretend otherwise, Draco might well be beyond their reach this time. 

***

Draco knew pain and terror and white-hot pain. After that, he knew nothing at all. 

***

The moment the cellar door slammed closed, Hermione started screaming. 

Ron threw himself at the door, pounding at the sheet of metal keeping him away from her. “Hermione!  _ Hermione!”  _

“Ron, you need to calm down—” Harry tried, but Hermione’s screams started up again, and Ron started yelling louder than before. His voice cracked as he screamed her name, over and over and over, nails breaking and bleeding as he clawed at the metal. 

Harry’s chest ached, and he had to blink fast to keep his tears from falling. In the seven years he’d known Ron, never once had he heard his friend sound like this. 

Harry banded his arms across Ron’s chest, hauling him away from the door. Ron writhed against his hold, voice hoarse and shrill as he continued to shout Hermione’s name. 

Hermione screamed again, and Ron’s body went limp. He collapsed, sobbing, in Harry’s arms. 

It was torture. This entire situation was worse than he could’ve possibly imagined—captured by the Death Eaters, awaiting Voldemort’s arrival, and Hermione,  _ Hermione _ being tortured in his stead. 

But there was more. Harry couldn’t get him out of his head: Draco. Draco, who he had always hated, Draco, who once upon a time, he might’ve wished dead. 

But things were different now. The innocence of childhood had been torn away from in front of Harry’s eyes, and he understood with a bit more clarity how a child could’ve been twisted and warped into a monster. He understood why, during their third year, Draco’s boggart had turned into a man with pale, dead eyes and lank white hair—why Draco’s own father was his worst fear at thirteen years old. He understood that Draco was… not exactly innocent, no, but not quite the villain Harry had always figured him to be, either. 

He didn’t know when he’d realized it, exactly. Maybe some part of him had always known. But when he thought back to the first moment he’d realized Draco was more than he appeared, he thought of that day in their sixth year, the day things had gone so horribly wrong. Harry had never seen Draco cry before, and when the veil of cold, cruel contempt was ripped away, Harry was forced to see Draco for what he really was: a child caught up in an ugly war, confined by the choices he’d never even had. And then Harry’s spell hit Draco in the chest, and when Harry looked into Draco’s storm-grey eyes, he saw himself staring back. 

And today… today Draco had  _ lied _ for him. He had betrayed his entire family to help his sworn rival. And when his father hit him, Draco took the blow without flinching, like he was so used to the pain it ceased to phase him.

Harry knew what abuse looked like. He’d suffered it long enough, himself. 

The lock of the cellar door slid open, and Harry whirled around just as the door swung open. It shut again just as quickly, drenching the room in thick, impenetrable darkness. 

It took Harry’s eyes a second to adjust to the blackness, but once they did, he had to hold in his gasp. Narcissa Malfoy was standing in the cellar, wand clutched in her white-knuckled fist. Her throat worked as she stared at Harry, her familiar grey eyes— _ Draco’s _ eyes—pleading. 

Ron’s voice came from beside him. “You piece of shit!” He launched himself at Narcissa like he was going to 

Harry caught him around the chest, hauling him back. “Ron, stop it.  _ Ron!” _

_ “Let me go!” _ Ron fought against Harry’s hold, his face red and blotched with snot and tears. “She’s hurting her, Harry, she’s hurting Hermione!” 

As if to punctuate his statement, another scream came from upstairs, and Ron flinched. His shoulders were shaking with the force of his sobs. 

“I’m here to ask for your help,” Narcissa whispered. 

“Our  _ help?” _ Ron shrieked. His whole body was trembling as he clawed at Harry’s arms with bloody fingers. “Why the fuck would I help you? You’re t-torturuing my… my…” His voice cracked, and the fire left his body just as quickly as it had come. “Hermione. I… I can’t…” 

Ron’s knees gave out, and he fell, sobbing, to the cold stone floor. 

Harry pulled Ron’s head against his chest, clutching his friend close as the other boy cried and shook. The sound of Hermione’s screams was an omnipresent reminder that every second they spent here was agony for their best friend. 

Harry cut a glare in Narcissa’s direction, “Get out.” 

“I—”

“Get out!” Harry shouted, his hands fisting in the fabric of Ron’s shirt. “Can’t you see you’re hurting him?” 

Narcissa blinked fast, like she was trying to hold back her tears. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. “He has my son.” 

Harry sucked in a breath.  _ Grey, tortured eyes and a viper’s smile— _

“Please,” Narcissa breathed, her voice hitching. “They took my baby away from me—a year ago, they gave him to that  _ monster _ as punishment, and when he returned, he wasn’t… he wasn’t the same.” She covered her mouth with her hand, biting down hard on her lip to keep her tears from spilling over. “He has so many scars now, my Draco, and he doesn’t laugh anymore…” 

When Harry spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “Not my problem.”

  
“I’ll do whatever you want!” Narcissa snapped. “Whatever you ask! I’ll get you out of here, I’ll… I’ll get the girl out of here, too. Just… please.” She broke, sinking to her knees on the floor of the dungeon, wand clattering to the floor by her side. “Please, get Draco as far away from here as you can.”

***

It was a beautiful house—one of the dozens of safehouses Dumbledore had hidden throughout the country—and more importantly, it was warded. No one would be able to get in and out without Remus’s knowledge and consent now that he’d been keyed in as secret keeper. 

It was hidden deep in the woods, miles from the city, with no neighbors around for miles. The gothic structure was much too large for their party of three, but Tonks couldn’t deny that the house was beautiful: plentiful windows, tiered roofs, and ivy crawling up the side. 

The woods themselves were still and quiet. The trees were so large that all of them—Tonks, Remus, and Sirius combined—wouldn’t be able to wrap their arms around the trunks with their fingers touching. Morning light trickled through the canopy, casting dancing shadows along the forest floor. 

Sirius was leaning heavily against Remus. He was still too hurt to be out of bed, but the move couldn’t be put off any longer. Looking at him like that hurt—beated, bruised, and bloodied, even after all the healing magic Remus had performed. He said he was fine, but Tonks sometimes Tonks caught a glimpse of the shadows behind his eyes, and she knew he was lying. 

The inside of the house was warm, comfortable, with walls of bright maple wood and large windows that let the light trickle inside. A fire was already blazing in the fireplace, like the house had been expecting them.

Remus brought Sirius to bed as soon as they arrived, leaving Tonks alone with her thoughts. She wandered, running her hand up the smooth bannister of the stairwell, feeling the plush carpet underneath her toes. She could picture Draco here so easily. He’d love it, she knew. He’d love the sunlight, the warmth. He pretended to be so cold, but she knew it was all a facade, a wall to keep everyone at arms’ length. It was safer that way. 

Tonks found the room with the most windows. She made the bed with the duvet Draco never even had the chance to use and stuck the plastic stars on the ceiling in the shape of constellations. 

Draco would need light, she thought, after being trapped in the dark for so long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that Draco's POV is only two sentences long, it's not a typo or a forgotten POV, it's just meant to build suspense XD 
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading!! Comments give me *serotonin*, so let me know if you liked this chapter!


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